


What Has Been Seen (Cannot Be Unseen)

by Thea_Bromine



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi, Sexual Content, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Bromine/pseuds/Thea_Bromine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings – If you’re looking for Plot, move on, please. Nothing to see here. This is Smut, with Spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Xander

**Author's Note:**

> A long, long, time ago, probably in a galaxy far away, somebody, I don’t remember who, said that there ought to be more library spanking fiction. 
> 
> Yes. There ought.
> 
> Add in the angst-fest that was [_Et Praevalebit_](), in which, as I did warn you, Constant Reader, that you would at some point want to slap everybody except Wesley and the horse, and it seemed to me that this would be a good time to produce some. Giles, I thought, also wanted to slap several people, so I set about allowing him to do just that, in some AU that is not the AU of _Et Praevalebit_ or anything else I’ve written. We’re just going here with ‘who would you like to spank, Giles? O.K., here you go.’
> 
> Yes, I do know that what I had to do to the time-line to get everybody into the library in one go looks like Aran five way cable. Get over it. I’m not taking this very seriously; I don’t expect you to take it seriously either. 
> 
> British spelling because Giles was giving me the Glare™. 
> 
> The characters you recognise belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The ones you don’t belong to me. If Giles belonged to me, a lot of episodes of BtVS would have gone quite differently to how they did, and Giles would look less stressed.

She would show Giles: he always said that she was clumsy and excessively loud when she tried to reconnoitre. There had been a weekend on which Giles had been doing a major rearrangement of the library system, including a search of every classroom and hall for unreturned books; he had told her that he would be somewhere on school premises both days from eight until four and that she should try to surprise him at least three times each day. It had been humiliating: she had knocked him down nine times, Slayer strength being what it was, and she had claimed the victory each time, but Giles had pointed out acerbically that he had always heard her coming and been ready for her, and that if her target had been a demon rather than a middle-aged Englishman armed with nothing more dangerous than a ballpoint pen and a stock inventory, she would have been in trouble.

So she had been thinking about her sneaking-up-on-Giles techniques, and she was going to surprise him tonight. She had been tired and irritable all day; she would feel better if she managed to score one over her Watcher.

She climbed the school gate; so yeah, O.K., it shifted under her foot and rattled, and the padlock rang against its chain, but she didn’t count that. She hadn’t really started her exercise, she told herself. It didn’t begin until she was inside the school grounds.

A piece of gravel turned under her foot with a crunching sound, and she froze. O.K., she would give Giles that one, mentally at least. She didn’t intend to _mention_ it to him, of course, and it wasn’t like he would know, but yeah, she needed to be more careful about where she put her feet.

She dodged from one patch of shadow to another, hiding for nearly a minute behind Giles’ car and levering herself up by its fender. The springs creaked; maybe she shouldn’t have done that? Still, a cooling car made all kinds of noises; there was no way anybody could tell if that was just normal, or the sound of somebody there. She eased sideways through the darkness to achieve the wall, stepping softly to the library window.

There was somebody inside: the lights were on, but the blinds were pulled down, and Giles was always careful to make sure that the glass was completely covered. If she really concentrated, she could not so much _hear_ as _feel_ a vibration in the air, telling her that there were two people inside, talking. Would be Giles and Xander, she expected; things hadn’t been good for Xander at home in a long time, and he was spending less and less time there, more and more time at the library or at Giles’ apartment or at Willow’s. Well, cool: she would sneak up on both of them. She’d have Xander as a witness that she could surprise Giles. No way would her Watcher be able to be as dismissive as he’d been the last few times they’d done this exercise.

’Kay. She had to think this through. She couldn’t see in through the ground level window, so she couldn’t tell where Giles was. He said she could if she would just centre herself and allow herself to feel him – he said all Watchers and Slayers could do that, that if they wanted to, each of them could know where the other was. She was _so_ not cool with that as an idea, she just found it kinda wiggy. She wouldn’t practise it; Giles pushed her, but she dug her heels in. He swore that it would give her only an idea of which direction he was in, not that it would give her details of precisely what he was doing and where; he added dryly, “Buffy, I have no more desire to have you conscious of what I’m doing in the bathroom than you have to _be_ conscious of it. It will only tell you that that’s where I _am_.” And it wasn’t like he would lie to her, and yeah, O.K., she hadn’t thought of that one, but she could see why he might think that she was bothered about it. She wasn’t... well, after he’d said it, she was. But before that, she’d been bothered about him knowing... stuff. She didn’t _want_ him to be able to know that sometimes when she said she was staying home to catch up on her schoolwork, or studying with Willow, she wasn’t. She was pretty sure he guessed it, but he couldn’t _know_. And yeah, she did believe him when he said that he wouldn’t know what she was doing, she _did_ believe him, except that when she looked at the little box that lived at the back of her underwear drawer, the one she’d bought when she’d been to her dad’s one spring break, with the... the _thing_ that she’d bought in the shop she’d got into using fake ID, she just...

No, he wouldn’t know, and she believed him when he said so, but...

She did not want Giles knowing that she had a vibrator, particularly not one looking like _that_ , and she _really_ didn’t want him thinking that she used it. Even though she’d only used it twice. The thing _ate_ batteries.

So, no thank you, she was _not_ practising that.

It did occur to her that possibly Giles _did_ practise it, and _could_ tell where she was. That would certainly explain how he had known she was coming when she did the exercise. He had said he couldn’t; he had said that they _both_ needed to do it to begin with until they could find each other automatically, and that he couldn’t do it without her doing it too.

At least, she thought that was what he had said.

Not that it mattered; there were two people at least in the library, and most likely they were Xander and Giles. That was the point. So, sneaking up. Through the window, not so likely. Giles wasn’t exactly... he was all librarian-guy, and Watcher-guy, and yeah, he _knew_ a lot, but street-smart? Not so much. She could out-think him on those terms any day. What he _did_ have, though, was experience, and Giles’ experience didn’t have him leaving windows open after dark. Yeah, sure, she could break a window, get the drop on him before he caught up – probably, although he was quicker than most people would expect an old guy to be – but he got all pissy when he thought she was just using Slayer strength what he called unnecessarily.

That, and when he had to pay for the repairs.

So no, not the window. That meant the roof, and the skylight, and getting through not only the metal lock but also the wards. Well, the wards were meant to keep out the vamps and nasties, not her, so they wouldn’t actually stop her, but they made her skin crawl. And the lock... O.K., she would try not to break the lock. Giles had taught her how to pick a lock.

Giles had some really odd ideas about necessary life skills. He’d tried to teach her how to hotwire a car too, but that went wrong because she didn’t really understand how the ignition worked.

She wrapped her hand around the drainpipe and looked up. Easy climb. _Easy_. The brickwork was uneven, so there were plenty of toeholds, and the pipe was braced into the concrete every few feet, so it would take her weight. She could go up that like climbing the stairs. Then four steps took her to the skylight and...

No. She lay down, cautiously, on the roof, wriggled across the tiles, and eased over the skylight. Even in the dark, Giles might spot movement. She worked herself slowly into position, and looked down into the library. It was an odd angle: she could see most of the main space, and she was looking straight through the glass into Giles’ little office. Under her hand, the metal catch of the skylight lock was cold; she worked her nail file out of her pocket and began to tease the hasp. Giles had suggested, drily, that she buy a Swiss Army knife; she preferred a manicure kit, and after a moment’s consideration, he had shrugged and observed that it seemed to have most of the same implements. The catch gave gently beneath her fingers, and she eased the skylight open, no more than an inch. She wouldn’t throw it back until she was absolutely ready to go: Giles would feel the cold outside air if she did. She wanted to wait until he was actually beneath her before she dropped in on him.

It was fun, startling her Watcher. Didn’t happen often but it was fun.

Xander was dead underneath her; he said something she didn’t catch, and Giles came to the door of the office. He looked... God, he was pissed about something. Weird, but she could tell just from the way he stood. Most of the time, he rounded his back, trying to make himself look smaller, she suspected, but when he was pissed, or when he was taking duty in the hall, or actually, when he was fighting the vamps, he stood up straight, head up, shoulders down, total in-charge guy, and he looked like that now. She bit her lip and eased the skylight another half inch. If Giles was pissed about something, she wanted to know what it was _before_ she went in there.

“That’s insolence, and I will _not_ put up with it. I thought I had made that plain last time.”

Oh, just great. He was pissed at Xander, not at the world in general, so he would almost certainly end up pissed at all of them. Xander never did know when just to shut up – he was talking again.

“But Giles, I...”

“Did I not?”

“Yeah, but...”

“But nothing. Since we need to repeat the lesson, we will.”

Huh? And for goodness sakes, didn’t Xander have the sense to back off and grovel some? They _all_ knew that whatever they had done, Giles could always be brought around – bought off – with an apology and some puppy-dog eyes. Well, maybe... Actually, maybe that was only her and Willow. Puppy-dog eyes from Xander to Giles weren’t likely to be that much use. On the _other_ hand, Xander’s half-shrug and sideways look weren’t likely to do anything to improve Giles’ temper. Even _she_ thought he looked insolent, and generally she would side with Xander against Giles any time.

Only... what on _earth?_

Giles was glaring at Xander, who was giving that half shrug again.

“Fetch the stool.” And somehow the way Giles said that... It didn’t sound like just a request, it sounded like a threat, but Xander was looking around him and going off towards one of the kick-stools that were scattered through the library for the benefit of the more height-challenged kids. Giles could reach the top shelf of all the bookcases. Buffy couldn’t. What on _earth_ was going on?

Giles was... Giles was _unfastening_ his _belt_. She could hear it, hear the _whick-whick_ noise of the loose end flicking out of the loops on his pants. She shifted cautiously to get a better look; he was doubling the leather, allowing it to dangle from his hand.

“Well? What are you waiting for? You know what to do, you’ve done it often enough.”

Xander was leaning against a table, and actually, Buffy could just see why Giles was annoyed, because even the way he _stood_ was... she had never seen Xander throwing such _attitude_. She didn’t believe what her panicked mind was telling her was going to happen, but if it _was_ true, then she could well believe that Xander had been asking for it.

Of course, she ought to interrupt. Interfere. If Giles really intended to... Giles couldn’t possibly be meaning to do what she thought he was, because, because nobody did that sort of thing these days. Because _Giles_ didn’t do that sort of thing. Giles didn’t even send people out of the library for talking during study periods, or give them detention for losing books. Giles could _not_ be intending... And anyway, Giles wouldn’t have any right to do that sort of thing to Xander. Xander could just say no, and Giles wouldn’t be able to... _Xander_ didn’t do that sort of thing. So she didn’t need to interrupt because whatever was going on, it wasn’t _that._

“Today, Xander.”

Only it seemed that it _was_ that. Xander pushed off the table and slouched over to the stool he had retrieved from European History (18th to 20th Century), and then... Then he bent over and put his hands on the step.

“Legs straight.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth just in time to stop the sound of shock emerging, but they wouldn’t have heard her anyway, not over the crack of Giles’ belt against the seat of Xander’s pants. For a weird, dislocated moment, she wondered if Xander was thinking that he should have worn jeans today; those pants from the look of them were cotton, and not any too thick, and that _had_ to have hurt, surely?

Yeah, it did: Xander yelped at the second one, and twisted at the third. “Ow, Gi-iles!”

There was a moment’s silence, and Giles said incredulously, “I _beg_ your pardon?”

Another silence, and Xander looked down between his hands at the surface of the stool, and said nothing.

“The use of my name in that fashion, with no honorific, is not a _right_ , Xander. I thought you knew that.”

Huh? They all called him Giles; the difficulty was remembering not to do it during school hours.

“It’s a concession on my part, to those people I think deserve it. Just at the moment, Xander, do you think you deserve it?”

Xander muttered something towards the floor.

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t catch that.”

“No, sir.”

“You may have another six for your presumption, on top of the three remaining for your impertinence and the one we shall repeat because you moved.”

Xander half straightened, looking over his shoulder. “Six?”

“Certainly. I don’t honestly see any reason for me to break with British tradition: I _am_ English, after all.”

“I’m not,” muttered Xander rebelliously.

“Indeed. I quite see the conflict. It is certainly unusual that the British, who have embraced the metric system with competence, if not with enthusiasm, should administer punishment in dozens, while the Americans, who are largely still using the units popular in the British Empire before the standardisation of Imperial measurements in 1824, and who view the _Syst_ _ème International d’Unités_ with deep suspicion, find the base award of six to be foreign and bewildering. Nonetheless, Xander, six. _After_ your remaining four.”

And what the hell, but Xander was just bending over again, hands on the stool, not arguing, not bolting for the door, not trying to knock Giles down and yell for help because her Watcher had flipped completely. Not even yelling at the _wicked_ cracks of that belt across his ass, and definitely not moving again. A yelp or two, and his hips shifted and squirmed; one foot came off the floor as he twisted, but his hands were fixed to the stool, and that had to be hurting, surely?

“You may stand up.”

He was slower about that than she might have expected; he straightened his back as carefully as Giles did when he’d been bending to get at the lowest shelves. Giles, on the other hand, didn’t generally grab his ass, and rub, frantically.

“What have you to say?”

From this angle, she couldn’t quite see Xander’s face; he sounded odd as he said, obediently, “Thank you, sir,” but she couldn’t work out... His voice trembled, but she didn’t think he was crying.

She didn’t know what it was, any of it, except deeply bewildering. Giles spanked Xander? And... obviously this wasn’t the first time. How long had this been going on? And why? What sort of relationship did they have that Giles told Xander to bend over, and Xander just _did?_ It was like, she knew that things weren’t great for Xander at home, and she could totally see that if he needed an adult to rely on, Giles was way better than Tony Harris.

Well, in terms of reliability, a paper cut-out would be better than Tony Harris. So yeah, she could see, kinda, that Xander might have attached himself to Giles. But this?

She began to edge off the roof. Surprising her Watcher seemed less of a thrill than it had done earlier, largely on account of her Watcher having surprised _her_ , like totally. She had _no_ idea what was going on but it was...

Hot. And that was a surprise too. Giles being all bossy and definite and just telling Xander what to do, and Xander _doing_ it. That was definitely hot. She wasn’t _blind_ , she knew that her Watcher was a good-looking man. Miss Calendar had obviously thought so and her mom, and she was _so_ not going there, and she knew that Willow had just the tiniest crush. So the clothes were just totally not cool – except that when he had worn the jeans and the boots and the leather, he might have been cool, ‘k, but the rest of that evening she was just _not_ going to think about. _Not_ cool clothes. But the body, and this was something else she wasn’t thinking about except that she was, the body was in good shape for a man of his... well, really, for a man of _any_ age. There had been a vote taken in the cafeteria one lunchtime across two tables of the cool girls, about whether Mr Giles in the library had a better ass than Mr Cutler in the gym who worked out all the time, and Giles had won. She’d kept that snippet in reserve for some time she really _really_ wanted to embarrass Giles.

But yeah, Bossy Giles was hot when he was being bossy at _other_ people. And the discovery that Bossy Giles could do that, could spank Xander and get Xander doing as he was told...

Buffy might never look at Giles the same way again.


	2. Willow

The library door was locked and the blinds were down; she was glad of that. She knew... what she knew now, but there was no reason for anybody else to know. She knew that the library doors were just about soundproof – nobody had ever come crashing in when she and Giles were training – and she was totally confused by what she had seen but she wasn’t so confused that she thought it would be a good idea for anybody else to have seen it. Whatever was going on between Giles and Xander, and she totally meant to find out what it was, there was no need for anybody except the three of them to know. Obviously, it would have to stop. It wasn’t right that Giles should be... wasn’t like he had any right, he wasn’t Xander's father or teacher or, or, or anything, and Xander didn’t have to let him...

Xander... Xander wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he must _know_ that. He must _know_ that Giles had no right to... which meant that Xander was _allowing_ him to do it. Which meant...

Well, it couldn’t possibly mean that...

Ewwww. No. It couldn't mean that Xander thought Giles was hot when he was bossy, too. No. No, it definitely meant that there was something else going on and she didn’t know what it was.

“Are you going to stand there all evening, Buffy?”

She shrieked with shock; Giles had opened the door and was looking at her quizzically.

“Are you coming in?”

Right. In. And the door swung closed behind her. So... now would be a good time to find out what the hell was going on. She needed to tell him that she knew, that _no way_ was whatever it was that he and Xander... No. He was always telling her that she mustn’t jump to conclusions. She needed to _ask_ what he and Xander were... No. She ought to...

Xander was sitting at one of the library desks, rocked back on his tail bone, feet on the table, and Giles, as he stepped past, flicked one hand, as she had seen him do over and over, and knocked Xander's ankles down. She had watched him do it before, plenty of...

And whoa, _what?_ Was _that_ what... Did Xander sit like that because his ass hurt? All the times she had seen him tipped back, his chair balanced on two legs, his weight on his... off his... was it because Giles had... because they had... because Xander was...

“Hey, Buffy.”

And why was Xander not upset? Giles had... Giles had...

“Demonology or Encyclopaedia of Mythical Beings? Or we have a nice Mall... Mali...”

“Malleus Maleficarum,” said Giles, blandly.

“Huh?”

“Research volumes? Your choice.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. I mean. That is. Giles, I think. Um. Xander. I.”

“Hey, Buffy. Hey, Xander. Hey, Giles. Are we late?”

“Ah, Willow, Oz. No, not, not late. I have some notes on what we’re looking for, so it’s pretty much pick your volume and, and start reading. I, I think we should give it an hour or so and then perhaps Oz would do a pizza run?”

Oz just nodded, settled himself opposite Xander and opened a book. Willow, of course, wanted to sit beside him; there was no way Buffy could say anything to Giles or Xander now. It would have to wait.

Research was boring. Boring, boring, boring. And it didn’t help that every time she looked up, Xander was fidgeting, or tipping his chair, or talking very quietly – quietly enough that she couldn’t hear them – to Giles. It didn’t help that every time she looked at either one of them, she thought about what she had seen. She could think of nothing else.

“Giles? What about the Corvus Codex? Is there anything in that?”

Giles’ head came up. “What do you know about the Corvus Codex, Willow?”

She shrugged. “I know it’s got a heap of stuff about shape-shifters. Not,” and she glanced sideways at Oz, “not the usual sort of shape-shifters but... the sort who...”

“The sort who sell, not their own souls, but other people’s souls, for the ability to take on the characteristics, not of animals or birds, but of demons,” observed Giles disapprovingly. “And _how_ do you know about the Codex?”

Willow shrugged unconvincingly. Giles frowned. “I’m serious, Willow. How do you know about the Corvus Codex? It’s not a book that I, I would want to think you had encountered, and if you...” He wound down, staring suspiciously at Willow, who was looking guiltily at the book in front of her.

“Um,” she offered, still unconvincingly.

“You’ve been at the books I keep in the office,” discovered Giles, his voice a blend of annoyance and deep disappointment. “Haven’t you?”

Willow nodded, shame-faced.

“After I expressly told you to leave them alone?” Now the disappointment outweighed the annoyance. Willow gazed at her interlinked fingers.

“Willow, you _know_ that those books...”

Oz cleared his throat softly; Giles stopped mid-sentence, obviously reminded that they had an audience. He frowned at Willow. “We’ll discuss this later, my girl. I thought I had made myself understood last time but obviously it’s a lesson we need to repeat."

And hey, wasn’t that what he had said to Xander, just about? What he had said, just before he had... and Xander had... as if he had done it before? And wow, _Willow?_ She was nodding nervously, refusing to look at Giles, or at anybody else. That couldn’t possibly mean that Willow... that Giles...

No. She wasn’t going to think about that, because it could _not_ happen. No. Couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine _any_ way in which Willow would... in which Giles could...

She glanced up, catching a glimpse of Giles moving towards the office. He put his notebook down on the desk, and opened a drawer, looking inside it.

Her mouth went dry. She knew what was in that drawer. More than once after patrol, she had seen him open it. That was Giles’ personal space; that drawer wasn’t for library supplies, for sticky notes and file cards. In there he kept a cloth, shoe polish, a clean shirt still in the store packaging, a wash bag with a small towel, a comb...

A clothes brush. A large, wooden-backed, long-handled clothes brush.

And now she _could_ picture it – she could picture them all, after patrol, cleaning their weapons, checking each other’s bumps and scrapes, calming down from the adrenaline rush. She could picture Oz, dangling his keys; Xander, babbling on and on; herself, hyper and bouncy; Giles, dry and sarcastic; Willow, quiet and subdued. She could picture them finishing their tasks, preparing to leave, her and Oz, Xander and...

“Willow, a word, please.”

And Giles fixed Willow with the patented Watcher glare.

“Oh,” said Willow, faintly. “But I’m going home with... Oz is...”

“I’m sure Oz will grant you five minutes grace,” said Giles implacably, and they all – except Willow – exchanged glances. Xander’s tongue flickered across his lower lip; Oz’s chin lifted, as if he scented trouble; her own stomach turned over, but there was no saving Willow now. They had all warned her that Giles would find out, and that he wouldn’t be pleased.

Oz gave an odd little sideways jerk of the head. “We’ll wait in the van,” he said quietly, his glance shifting from Willow to Giles.

“I won’t detain Willow very long.” Giles was brisk, now. Businesslike.

Severe.

They trailed out, leaving Willow with Giles, her gaze following them accusingly.

“Well, Willow?”

She looked away, devoid of answers.

“Willow.” It was a command, and she raised her eyes unwillingly. “Tell me something that justifies disobeying my express prohibition, Willow.”

She shook her head wordlessly.

“Did you not understand me?”

There was a spark of hope when she looked up, and she opened her mouth as if to deny having understood, before plainly deciding that the lie would only make things worse.

“I understood,” she whispered.

“Then what were you thinking? Explain it to me. Give me an excuse.”

“I wanted to _know_ ,” she muttered.

“Do you think that’s a good enough reason to try to deceive me?” He was implacable, never raising his voice but not allowing her even to hope for a possibility of escape. She shook her head.

“No, sir.”

“No,” he agreed. “It might be an explanation but it isn’t one that makes what you did any more acceptable. I told you, specifically, that the books on that shelf were forbidden to you. They are not yours, Willow. They belong to me, and for that reason alone – irrespective of their contents – you had no right to take them. But you knew that I would say no if you asked, didn’t you? I already _had_ said no, but you did it anyway. I’m very disappointed, Willow. I’m disappointed that you ignored my prohibition, and I’m disappointed that you should have tried to disguise it from me. Lies, and deception, and abuse of my goodwill. I’m not standing for that, Willow. If you lie to me, there are consequences. It’s your choice: you can stay away for a week. No access to the library other than in school hours, no access to any books at all other than your set texts. No use of any of my personal books, wherever I keep them. Or we can deal with it now, and I promise I’ll say no more about it, but in that case, it’s a spanking and it’s a hard one. I warned you that it would be, last time, didn’t I? You choose.”

Willow’s mouth was twisting and her eyes were filling with tears. She gazed mournfully at Giles, and he shook his head, denying the silent appeal. “Well? A week? Or now?”

“Now,” she whispered, shivering.

“Come along, then, let’s get it done.” He opened his desk drawer and removed the clothes brush, and Willow emitted a miserable wail.

“Oh, Giles!”

“Willow, you knew quite well that you were doing something you ought not. You _must_ have known that if I found out, there would be a reckoning. So at some point, you must have weighed the action against the possible costs and judged it worth the risk. You can’t refuse to pay now; you can’t back out simply because the outcome isn’t the one you wanted. I’ve quoted you two prices and you picked one; I’ll let you change your mind, but it’s one or the other.” He waited, but Willow apparently had nothing more to say. He prompted gently: “ _Are_ you changing your mind?”

She shook her head; he set one hand gently on her shoulder. “Come on, then, my girl. Touch your toes. You know what’s coming; let’s get it over.” His fingers slid to the back of her neck and he pushed lightly. Willow let out a small animal sound of despair, but she leaned forward obediently.

“Good girl,” approved Giles. “Further, now. Right down. Good. Now, pull your skirt up to your waist.”

She whimpered again, her fingers fluttering to the hem of her skirt, but not yet lifting it. “Oh, Giles, please!”

He said nothing, just waiting until she capitulated, inching her skirt upward. It reached the tops of her thighs and there was a long hesitation before her hands closed suddenly into fists and the skirt was dragged to her waist, revealing woollen tights sporting small pink and blue flowers. Giles’ large, broad hand settled on her back, faintly reassuring. “Are you ready?”

She made a faint, scared sound of acquiescence, and let out a high-pitched yelp as Giles cracked the wooden back of the brush across her bottom.

“Oh, Giles!”

“Keep still, now, Willow.”

The brush impacted again, hard, and Willow squealed. Giles’ hand slid over her back, and tugged her against his hip. She rocked, caught her balance and leaned against him. The brush rose and fell rhythmically, each noisy impact earning a wail from Willow; she flung out one hand, wrapping her arm around Giles’ thigh. “Hold on,” he encouraged, and returned to spanking her, hard, and with metronomic regularity, until her balance was gone, and she twisted and kicked in his solid grip. Each resounding blow on her slender hips made her jerk and squeal, and by the time Giles tossed the brush onto his desk, she was sobbing freely.

“Up you come,” he coaxed, his free hand coming to her shoulder to help her straighten. “That’s the way.”

Willow’s hands went at once to her punished bottom, squeezing and rubbing until she mustered the courage to raise her eyes to Giles’ face; he looked back solemnly and opened his arms. She flung herself inside, head against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his comforting solidity.

His own arms gathered the slightness of her to his broad chest, one hand sliding up her back to cradle the nape of her neck. He let her weep for a minute before he spoke.

“Stop that now.”

She tried to obey him, with a hiccup and a shudder; he produced the ubiquitous handkerchief and solemnly dried her face. “No touching my books without permission,” he warned. She shook her head mournfully and her breath hitched. He pocketed the handkerchief and tucked her head under his chin again, and she clung to him, her hot damp cheek against the rough tweed of his jacket. Presently she sighed, and he kissed her gently on the forehead. “All right now?”

She nodded, and her grip on his back slackened; he let her go. “I’ll walk you out to the van.”

It was dark outside; Giles, as ever, hesitated on the threshold, looking for danger, and then escorted Willow to the van, opening the battered door and holding it for her as if the van were a Rolls-Royce and Willow a duchess. “Goodnight, everybody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Buffy.” She didn’t answer him, her attention fixed on Willow, flushed, red-eyed, climbing awkwardly into the van, sitting down cautiously and with a little hiss. “Buffy?”

“Buffy!”

Her eyes snapped open. Across the library table, Willow was staring at her, wide-eyed and half smiling; Xander looked vaguely pleased that Giles was barking at somebody who wasn’t him. Oz had his usual calmly enquiring expression and Giles...

“Buffy, are you joining us this evening? I, I mean your physical presence is all very well, but you’ve been day-dreaming for the past ten minutes.” There was, oddly, no edge in his voice, but somehow the cocked head and raised eyebrows made her face burn. "What were you thinking about? I don’t suppose you can convince me that it was what you were reading.”

She opened her mouth in insulted objection, but fortunately her brain caught up before her treacherous tongue could say, “I was picturing you spanking Willow,” and she just made a vaguely desperate sound. Giles sighed exaggeratedly.

“Work, Buffy, please.”

She looked down at her book again.


	3. Oz

“Oh, Oz.” Giles’ voice came from behind them; he was leaning on the doorframe of the office, a sheet of paper in his hand. Oz looked up, mildly enquiring.

“You have overdue books.”

Oz’s eyes widened; Giles glanced down at his list. “ _The Golden Bough_ – looking up moon goddesses? You do know that most of Frazer’s theories have been debunked? Two engineering textbooks and Descartes’ _Metaphysical Meditations_. All due yesterday, and all the short term reference loans. We’re into fines territory, Oz.”

Oz tipped his head slowly to one side and frowned slightly; Buffy thought it made him look like a puzzled spaniel.

“Got no funds, Giles. Dropped the whole of this month’s allowance on a new cylinder head gasket for the van.” It didn’t sound like an attempt at an excuse, or an attempt to get Giles to let him off; Oz sounded adult and as if he was simply laying down an explanation. Opening a negotiation, almost?

Giles tipped his own head in polite but silent enquiry, and they looked at one another. Buffy had never noticed before how much wordless communication there was between Giles and Oz. She might even have believed that a full conversation took place, a conversation to which she – and Willow, and Xander – were not privy.

Giles nodded slowly, as if at something the rest of them hadn't heard Oz say. “But, but, you know, I can’t let it go. I have to do the paper return with the weekly statement of, of...”

“Of books borrowed and returned, yeah, I know,” agreed Oz, equably. “Do you a deal, Giles? Same as before?”

Giles considered him, seriously, and then pursed his lips and nodded once before ducking back into the office. Buffy looked, first at Oz and then at Xander and Willow. “Deal?” she asked curiously.

Oz looked up from his book. “I’m not good at getting the books back on time. Have trouble concentrating on anything heavy, anything mentally taxing, around... around moon time. Tend to end up with all my library loans overdue. Trouble is, of course, Giles has to run the library for people who _don’t_ go all fangs and claws once a month.” He returned his attention to his book, only looking up again when Willow made a faint enquiring sound. “He, ah, we have a sorta deal, is all.”

Obviously he didn’t see the necessity of saying any more. Buffy started at him for a moment, but he had returned his attention to his book. Her mind raced and skipped. They had a deal? She had heard Giles on the subject of students who didn’t return their books on time. She had seen him unleashing the full force of his sarcasm on students who came in to declare books lost or damaged. She had tried to beg off paying her own fine for an overdue book once and he had looked at her with such obvious disappointment that she had never done it again. She could talk Giles around into letting her have her own way on most subjects, but on anything to do with his library? Not so much. Not happening. On that subject he was totally, like _totally_ , inflexible. Implacable. So what on earth sort of deal could Oz have with Giles? If he didn’t let her, his Slayer, get away with stuff, then no way was he going to let Oz away with anything.

She looked around as inconspicuously as she could. She didn’t _like_ not knowing things. Particularly, she didn’t like not knowing things about Giles. He was _her_ Watcher, and she had a right to know what he was doing. She shot a glance in his direction. He was gathering up the papers on his desk, bouncing them on edge to line them up, laying them to one side, weighing them down with...

With a long wooden ruler. She didn’t know what it was for – she had never seen him use it – but it lived in his office, on his desk. It was maybe three-quarters of an inch wide, eighteen inches long, made of some smooth pale wood. Giles had laid it neatly, carefully, diagonally across the papers, and suddenly she could see it all.

“The deal, Oz?” Giles was calm and relaxed, capable, competent, ruler of this domain of his library. No sign of the nervous stammerer here. Oz leaned against the door frame, equally calm and relaxed, obviously easy in his relationship with Giles. He pushed off the wall and sauntered into the office.

“Sure. Four books, overdue since Monday. Can I move these file cards? Don’t want to throw a day’s work onto the floor.”

Giles put on an expression of mock panic. “Heaven forbid. Put them on the shelf, please.”

Oz did, and came back to the desk, leaning easily over it, narrow chest to the wood, hands clasped loosely under his chin, face turned a little to one side. “’Kay, I’m ready. Do your worst.”

“Hardly that,” objected Giles, his voice warm with amusement, reaching past Oz to pick up the ruler. He hefted it twice as if assessing its weight and balance, and touched it delicately across Oz’s lean hips. Oz didn’t move, nor did his expression change when the ruler was withdrawn, only to cleave the air sharply on its return journey, cracking squarely across the seat of his pants. He yelped once, sharply, and his shoulders jerked, but he didn’t seem dismayed otherwise.

The ruler cracked down a second time and a third; Oz’s yelps were obviously heartfelt, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, but he kept his chin lowered and his ass up, his whole posture submissive. The ruler continued to whistle through the air and smack noisily against its target; Oz’s yelps rose in pitch and volume until his voice broke on the ‘yip-yip’ of a puppy on whose tail somebody has trodden. Giles laughed, not unkindly, and lightly cuffed the back of Oz’s head, dropping the ruler on the desk. Oz squirmed once, nape to knees, and began to push himself upright; Giles picked up his pen and neatly drew a line through Oz’s name on the list of defaulters. Beside him, Oz, showing no particular distress, allowed his fingertips to explore for damage, rubbing vigorously when he found a particularly hot spot. Giles waited politely until Oz dropped his hands and smiled easily at him, before hanging an arm companionably across the thin shoulders.

“Slate’s clean, then, but, you know, it wasn’t necessary. You just need to be more careful.”

Oz shrugged, not hard enough to dislodge Giles’ arm. “Full moon, it’s hard for me to remember stuff. It’s like I have to expend all my energy just staying human, walking upright, not sniffing lamp-posts, that kinda shit."

Giles nodded understandingly. “But if you came in a day or so _ahead_ of full moon, I would renew all your loans, no questions asked.”

“I guess. It’s just a matter of getting organised. Not used to having a monthly cycle yet, but hey, half the world manages it so I guess it shouldn’t be beyond me.”

Giles laughed, dropping his hand from Oz’s shoulder. “I hadn't thought of it quite that way.” He closed the office door and stepped into the library proper. “Have you finished with that book?"

There was no answer and he repeated the question. “The book: have you finished with it?”

Oz’s voice prompted softly. “Buffy? You done with the book?”

She jumped convulsively, knocking her pen and notepad to the floor. It felt like everybody was staring at her, possibly because everybody was.

“Uh... no. No. Not done yet.” Her voice sounded hoarse in her own ears; she thought Willow was looking at her strangely.

“So, Oz, what kinda book deal have you got with the G-Man?”

Yeah, she wanted to know that too, because no way could it be what had just played out in her head. Oz shrugged.

“Computer time. Giles is supposed to be converting the book list, taking it off the card system and getting it all electronic.” There was a muttered expletive from the office, of which the words were inaudible but the tone unmistakable. “Giles doesn’t like doing it. So he pays my library fine and I pay him back in data input hours and we both think we’re getting the best of the deal.”

Oh. So not Oz bending over Giles’ desk while Giles used a ruler on him. Not like that was ever likely. No. Oz wouldn’t... What was _wrong_ with her? Giles wouldn’t do that!

Except that Giles did do it. Giles did it to Xander. Xander had got mouthy with Giles and Giles had taken his belt to Xander's ass, and Xander had let him. So Giles _did_ do that, and Xander did do that and if Xander did it, who was to say that Oz didn’t? Who was to say that Oz didn’t recognise Giles as the leader of the pack, as the guy who told him what to do, as the guy who got to punish him when he didn’t do it?

God, that would be hot too. Giles getting assertive with Xander had been hot, and the idea of Giles being all more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger-ish with Willow, that had been hot, and Giles being all... companionable and just _in charge_ with Oz and Oz knowing his place, that was hot.

“Buffy?” That was Oz again; he was looking at her oddly. “You O.K.?”

She nodded.

“Just you look a bit... off. And...” His head went up again, that odd way it did when he was thinking, which looked like him scenting the air, and then suddenly he smiled at her, and turned back to his own book.

That was odd too.


	4. Cordelia & Xander

Giles, oblivious to what was going on her head (and wasn’t _that_ a good thing!) bustled out of the office.

“Is, is, I thought Cordelia was coming this evening.”

They exchanged glances. “She doesn’t usually show,” observed Oz, calmly.

“No, but, but, she said she was coming tonight, and I do rather want her to, to, for the file cards. I’ve found another set which need to be integrated with the ones we have, and, and, well, I can read her handwriting, which is more than I can say for the rest of you. I’m sure she said she was coming.”

Xander looked up and hastily down again, but he wasn’t quick enough. Giles glared at him. “Xander?”

Xander shrugged, his eyes on the book in front of him. Giles made his clucking sound. “Xander, what did she say?”

She was vaguely surprised that he capitulated so quickly. “Um, just that she’d got somewhere else to be.”

On the other hand, she had learned to admire Giles’ use of silence. He had a way of asking a question and then simply not responding to the answer, that she had learned to fear. She always swore that she wasn’t going to give him anything further, and she always caved after fifteen seconds and told him everything. Xander, she was encouraged to see, did no better.

“Some guy asked her out.”

 Giles continued to look politely enquiring.

“They were going to see a movie, and for pizza, and, and...”

“Is that standard behaviour in America?”

Oh, when Giles got that look about him, the blank face and the innocently expressed question, it was never good. Xander looked equally blank, but less deliberately so.

“Huh?”

“In Britain, it is considered very poor etiquette to abandon one engagement simply because a subsequent one is more interesting.”

“Is here too,” said Willow quietly, and Oz nodded.

“I am surprised that somebody like Cordelia, who claims to be a, a leader within the, the school, should, should... Well. No doubt she had what she thought was a good reason.”

“Yeah, a football jock with big muscles and a car. That’s all the reason Cordelia needs to bail on us.”

She thought for a moment that Giles was going to say something more – he’d pulled Xander up more than once for what he perceived to be disrespectful attitudes to others – but possibly he was aware that his own comments, even though he had bitten the last one back, had been the wrong side of snippy.

“Cordelia doesn’t care for the library,” offered Willow, plainly trying to play peacemaker.

“Liked it well enough before,” muttered Xander rebelliously; Giles shot him a hard look. He shrugged. “Well, she did.”

“I know,” agreed Giles, dryly. “It was a bloody nuisance – _you_ were a bloody nuisance, the pair of you. I couldn’t get at any of my own bookshelves unless I made a noise like a herd of elephants approaching. Either you were so enthralled by each other’s presence that you didn’t hear me coming, and you were _always_ at the bookcase I needed to use, or else you were doing something in _my_ library that I most decidedly didn’t want to see, either officially or unofficially. Officially I was supposed to put a stop to it; unofficially you left me wanting, in your own parlance, to bleach my eyeballs.”

“Oh, come on, Giles, it was never that bad. We never actually...”

“Xander, I have only one thing to say to you: the literature of Moorish Spain. I was reduced to dropping an encyclopaedia in the next aisle over, and you really do _not_ want to remind me of what I found a week later being used as a bookmark in Menocal on Arabic literary history.”

“Yeah, O.K., you made it plain enough that we weren’t welcome. Maybe that’s why Cordelia isn’t here?”

Giles snorted and turned back to the office; Buffy stared at Xander, and then hastily looked away when he turned his head. She couldn’t imagine Giles _ever_ letting anybody see that they weren’t welcome in the library, no matter what they had done: he was totally ‘education for all, resources for all, books for all’ guy. He did yell occasionally – well, not so much yell as get all quiet and snarky – about students not taking care of his books, and you did _not_ want to get him on the subject of soda cans and candy wrappers and sticky fingers...

Ewwww. She so did not want to think about sticky fingers and Xander and Cordelia in the same sentence. If that was what they... she was with Giles on that one. If they had been... then Giles _so_ should have taken official notice. Or unofficial notice. Or just made them _stop_ , using whatever means he had. He could have... well, not thrown them out, actually, because that was what she had just thought that he didn’t do, but given them detention... Come to think of it, she didn’t know if Giles was authorised to give detention. Did he count with teaching staff, who could, or office staff, who didn’t? Anyway, he could have sent them to the... well, no, she couldn’t exactly see him sending Xander to the principal either. Other students, yeah, sure, if they got mouthy or showed him some real attitude, but Giles was perfectly well aware that Snyder disliked Xander – and Buffy and Willow and Giles himself – and she could see it being something he wouldn’t want to do, because of not knowing if Snyder would dump on Xander far more than he deserved, simply because it was Xander, or let him off, simply because it was Giles. Maybe that _was_ a case where what she had seen would be the best option. Bring Xander up short, and she _so_ thought that Cordelia would be much improved by being on the sharp end of a Giles-spanking.

Yeah, she could totally see that. That one came with a whole world of yes. It was a bit rough that it involved Xander – she would let him off if she could – but hey, if the price of spankage for Cordelia was spankage for Xander, Xander could just assume the position. Yeah. She could _totally_ see that one.

Well, she could certainly see how they would have got there. She _had_ seen it, more than once: she had opened a door and entwined-Xander-and-Cordelia had fallen out at her feet. She had nearly staked them with the shock, and she wouldn’t at all have blamed Giles if he had done the same thing. The idea of poor respectable conservative inhibited Giles (because Ripper was _so_ not who he was any more) rounding the end of a bookshelf in the stacks and...

“Oh, good _Lord_. For the love of anything, Xander, get your hand out of there, and put your... No, really, this is just too much. I told you yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, that this was not acceptable behaviour in the library. Or in any other public place, come to that. Since you’re either too ill-bred or too stupid to follow simple instructions, you may take yourselves off to Principal Snyder, and tell him, with my compliments, that you have been engaged in inappropriate behaviour on school premises. I know he takes that seriously; perhaps he’ll be able to persuade you to take it seriously too. Get out.”

Cordelia was slowly setting her blouse to rights and she cast Giles an insolent look. Xander, on the other hand, looked shaken; he probably had no illusions about what Snyder was likely to say. “Giles, he’ll have me suspended!”

“I doubt that, but I think you may expect a detention or two.”

“You know he hates me! He gives me detention for breathing heavy!”

“Heavily, not heavy. Don’t exaggerate.”

Xander ran his hand desperately through his hair. “He gave me a detention for bringing my skateboard into school. Then when I didn’t, he gave me a detention for being late. He gave me a detention because my dad didn’t sign off the form on the last letter that got sent out, which happened because the letters went in the mail and I didn’t see it so I couldn’t just sign it myself like I usually do, and he told me that if I got another detention this semester, I’d be suspended.”

Cordelia deigned to join in. “I can’t have a detention! All the nerds and geeks get detentions, not people like me!”

Giles looked at her with some dislike.

“Well, I can’t! I’ve never had a detention and there’s...” She dried up, suddenly, looking sideways at Giles. He smiled thinly.

“There’s a prize for any student who makes it to graduation without ever having served a detention. I know. Such a pity that you won’t be eligible.”

She flounced but he merely looked bored. Xander cracked. “Giles... Come on. I get that you’re pissed at us, but we weren’t doing any harm.”

“I had told you repeatedly that you were not to behave in that way in _my library_ ,” said Giles flatly. “You both know that in actual fact, you’re not to behave like that _anywhere_ on school premises. You were warned, more than once; you ignored me. It’s hardly my problem if you don’t like the consequences.”

“Yeah but... are those the only consequences?” Xander was trying to sound appealing. “We could, oh, come in and do your re-shelving instead.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with it,” said Giles, crisply. “More to the point, I wouldn’t trust Cordelia not to arrive, whine at me, dump all the work on you, and when I insisted on her taking a share, doing it incorrectly on purpose.”

“Well, you think of something then!”

“I have thought of something,” pointed out Giles, evenly. “I’ve thought of the pair of you going and reporting yourselves to the principal. I believe I mentioned it before.”

“Something else,” said Cordelia, sulkily. “Think of something else.” She yanked a chair away from the table on which her coat and bag reposed; the bag teetered for a moment and spilled its contents onto the floor. "Oh, just great. Great.”

“Something else,” said Giles, musingly. “Well...”

“Something else,” agreed Xander, hopefully. Giles gave him an evil smile, and then leaned over, picking up one of the jazz shoes Cordelia wore when the cheerleaders were working on lifts and stunts, and flexing it thoughtfully. Xander's eyes went wide.

“Something else. You may go and deal officially with Principal Snyder, or you may stay here and deal unofficially with me.”

There was a long and uneasy silence, as Xander stared, open-mouthed at Giles, and Cordelia’s head twisted from one of them to the other. “I don’t get it,” she said, uneasily. “Deal with you unofficially how?”

“You’re kidding,” said Xander faintly to Giles.

“Believe me, I am not.”

“You seriously want...”

“Me? I want nothing. You’re the ones who want something. You want to avoid going to Principal Snyder. I’m offering you an alternative, but fairly obviously, it’s both of you, or neither."

Cordelia stamped her foot. “What are you _talking_ about?” she demanded crossly.

Giles sighed. “Explain it to your... friend,” he requested.

Xander shuddered. “If I’m getting him, the G-Ma... Giles is saying that the alternative to Snyder is a spanking.”

Giles inclined his head, and smiled a little. Perhaps Ripper wasn’t as far in the past as they had thought.

“A... what? No! Why would you think... No! No way!”

“No, I thought not,” agreed Giles, amiably, setting the shoe on the table. Both Xander and Cordelia stared at it uncomfortably. “So it’s Principal Snyder. At once, please.”

“But...” said Xander weakly; Cordelia nodded in agreement.

“It’s not difficult. You don’t want to deal with me so you may deal with the headmaster. The principal. It is not open to negotiation, Xander. I am _tired_ of coming across the pair of you inappropriately engaged in inconvenient places, since all the inconvenience is on my side. It’s disrespectful and ill-bred. I don’t, you understand, care how sexually active you are in private; it is no business of mine, but you keep _making_ it my business, and it is going to stop.”

He waited; they looked at him with matching deer-in-the-headlights expressions. He sighed. “Well, go on.”

Xander looked away nervously. “Not going to Snyder,” he muttered. Giles frowned.

“It is not solely your decision,” he pointed out. Cordelia shook her head vehemently.

“I’m totally not gonna let you...”

“You’ll lose the no-detention prize.” Xander sounded desperate.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll get suspended!”

“Whatever.”

They both looked at Giles again; he gazed back, blank faced.

“Cordelia, I’ll get _suspended!_ I’m not going to UC like the others, I gotta get a job! I can’t tell an employer that I got suspended in my last year at school for... for...”

“Whatever.”

Giles was obviously controlling his expression; Xander couldn’t manage it. His face showed a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. Cordelia folded.

“All right. All _right_. Whatever! Just do it. I hate you, Xander Harris! You’re such a _loser!_ And...” she turned on Giles who raised one hand.

“Don’t. I am bending the rules much further than I should, and you do _not_ want to remind me that I am in fact a member of staff and that as such you are supposed to speak to me respectfully.”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not allowed to do this. If I tell Snyder...”

“You could do that,” agreed Giles, placidly. “Principal Snyder would probably fire me. You would still get the detention, I’m fairly certain. Xander would be suspended. And there would be a major scandal over the idea that the school librarian spanked you. Whatever you said, whatever the school board said, about what had actually happened, do you think your friends – and the students who are not completely your friends – would believe you when you said that I hadn't actually done it? That you had stopped me in time? Do you think that you wouldn’t be known for the rest of your school career – and longer – as the girl who had her bottom smacked by the librarian? Whereas, if you actually _do_ have your bottom smacked by the librarian, nobody will ever know except the three of us, and each of us has good reason for never speaking of it. I reiterate: your choice is the principal, or me. There are no other choices, and the decision, plainly, lies with you. I won’t force you; I won’t even try to persuade you.”

She stamped again with frustration, angry tears settling on her eyelashes; he was unmoved. There was a long silence, and then she whispered, “O.K. What... what do we do?”

He picked up the jazz shoe again. “Xander first, I think. Bring that chair over here, Xander. Turn it round. Bend over the back of it, and I suggest you get a good tight grip on the sides of the seat. Don’t move until I say you may.”

Xander, white-faced, did as he was told; Giles tapped twice, obviously establishing range, and then unleashed a swift and noisy wallop. Xander's head jerked upward, and the air rushed out of his lungs and was dragged in again in a desperate pained gasp. His grip shifted on the seat; Giles waited for him to recover his balance, and continued.

It took only four for Xander to start making small noises of discomfort; eight to make him squirm anxiously, one foot lifting from the ground. Giles slowed as Xander twisted, waiting each time for him to resume his position before landing another stinging blow. Xander panted, yelped and finally squealed, all dignity lost. “Oh please...”

“Four more,” said Giles, judicially; Xander whimpered miserably, and wailed loudly as the promised four were applied.

“You may get up.”

Xander straightened, but then seemed unsure what to do with himself. His hands started to go behind him, but then simply fisted and he stepped back from the chair, continuing to stare at it, presumably while he gained some control over his expression. When eventually he did turn, he was flushed and his cheeks were wet.

“Cordelia.”

Giles had to say her name twice before she jerked her glance to him from Xander. “Now you. No, wait.” He was examining her skirt: wool and heavily pleated. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then looked down at the little heap of items that had spilled from her bag. “Take that skirt off and put your shorts on. Xander, come here.” He drew the boy alongside him, and turned deliberately, looking away from Cordelia into the empty library. “Hurry up, Cordelia.”

For a moment, she obviously thought about refusing; then her shoulders dropped, and she snatched up her shorts from the floor, wriggling into them, and yanking her skirt off.

“I’m done.” It was slightly too loud and for all her defiance, her voice trembled. Giles turned, and Xander, looking unsure, followed suit. Giles nodded meaningfully at the chair, and Cordelia, her face showing her fury, moved awkwardly towards it, and leaned over, taking hold of the seat. Giles smiled a little.

“I know that you think I’m an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy: you’ve said so often enough. Nonetheless I am a whole-hearted believer in the equality of the sexes, possibly on account of dealing with a Slayer. I shall give you precisely the same as I gave Xander. Don’t get up until I give you permission.”

He was as good as his word but Cordelia was less accepting than Xander had been. She yelled from start to finish, pushing herself up once and twisting away so that Giles narrowly avoided landing a blow on the bare skin of her thigh.

“Keep still,” he admonished. “This will take as long as it takes, Cordelia. I won’t reduce the penalty. Keep still and it will be over sooner.” He set one palm on her back and she subsided unhappily, but with the fight apparently burned out of her. She continued to make her dismay heard but she didn’t try to escape, and Giles, although he punished her no more severely than he had Xander, was quicker about it. When he announced that she might rise, it took her most of a minute to get herself under control, and she was less dignified than Xander had been, clutching at the seat of her shorts, and dancing in the confined space.

Giles waited impassively until she was quiet.

“And that, I think, should make it clear that I will not tolerate your lubricious behaviour in here. You may go, both of you.”

Xander fled, until he realised that Cordelia wasn’t beside him; he hesitated at the door while she shoved her possessions back into her bag. She lifted her shoe as if she expected it to bite her, rammed it in on top of her crumpled skirt and bolted after him.

“Cordelia!”

She froze, one hand on the door, not turning.

“You might like to do something about your hair.”

The door banged. Giles smiled.


	5. Wesley & Faith

The door banged, and Giles smi... She jumped and came back to herself. Actually, Giles wasn’t smiling. Giles had that strained look he wore a lot of the time when Faith and Wesley were about, the look that she was beginning to know meant that he was nervous about what Faith was doing and about whether Wesley knew what she was doing. Or whether Wesley knew what _he_ was doing. Even if she hadn't seen them across the library, she thought she would have known that Faith and Wesley had come in.

“What’s happened?” Giles sounded resigned; Faith and Wesley exchanged glances.

“What makes you think anything’s happened, G?” It was a challenge, and Giles’ expression showed that he knew it.

“You’re half an hour later than you announced you would be; you have mud on your face and Wesley is coated in what looks like brick dust. He is also out of breath, he’s favouring his left hand which obviously hurts, and the pocket of his jacket is ripped. I can see that neither of you is seriously injured, but plainly your plan did not go... ah, according to plan. I say again, what has happened?”

The pair of them exchanged glances again. “Nothing serious,” said Faith airily; Giles frowned and waited.

“The demon is dead,” offered Wesley, rather uncertainly.

Giles looked politely interested.

“I killed it,” said Faith firmly.

Giles leaned back against the desk and folded his arms.

“It wasn’t the cleanest kill, possibly,” admitted Wesley, “but all’s well, and all that.”

Giles tipped his head slightly to one side, crossed one ankle in front of the other, and raised an eyebrow.

“And that’s the important thing, after all,” agreed Faith.

Giles inclined his head a little further and raised the other eyebrow.

“All _right_ , it caught us a little by surprise,” confessed Wesley in a rush. “It wasn’t a Foreg after all, it was a Mau, so the metal swords weren’t _altogether_ as useful as they might have been, and Faith had to improvise with a couple of breezeblocks, which is where the brick dust came from, and...”

Giles came upright abruptly. “A _Mau?_ And you were expecting a _Foreg?_ Based on what?”

Wesley looked at Faith and hastily looked away again. “Based on, on, well, I understood, the coloration and size, and, and...”

Giles was frowning. “I thought that what took you out there was the footprints, originally? And then you followed it up with eye-witness reports?”

“Well, well, yes, the footprints, and then we, that is, I, and Faith...”

“Wesley, the footprints of a Foreg are nothing _like_ the footprints of a Mau. Footprint recognition was a first year foundation course when I did my training; is it not still?”

Wesley looked silly and didn’t answer.

“And your eye-witnesses: as you say, coloration and size are useful identifiers. How did your eye-witnesses confuse a deep blue demon the size of a large dog with a scarlet demon the size of a small _car_?”

Wesley didn’t answer that either, and Giles’ eyes narrowed. “How reliable were your eye-witnesses?”

“I, um, well, I asked, of course I know I should have gone myself.”

Giles made the connection. “You didn’t go. You turned out based on _hearsay?_ Or... no, you said you should have gone _yourself_. So who did go?”

Wesley made an obvious effort and looked at Giles. “I, I fully accept that I ought to have gone myself,” he said pompously. “The rest is, is...”

Giles turned on Faith. “He didn’t go. Please tell me that you did.”

She shrugged. “I went.”

“And?”

“The eye-witness had disappeared.”

“Where to?”

“Well, that’s the thing about _disappeared,_ G. You don’t get to know where to.”

“You make enquiries,” snapped Giles, sharply. “You search. Did you do either?”

She shrugged. “Asked around. The witness was gone. Nobody had any idea where. I asked what he had said. Nobody was very sure, but one old guy said that the witness said that the demon was the colour of a pickup truck outside. He pointed, and it was blue.”

Giles inclined his head once, slowly. “And was that the _only_ truck outside? Where was this witness?”

Suddenly Faith looked as silly as Wesley had done. She looked away. “Dealership. Guess he didn’t meant the truck I thought he did.”

“A _dealership?_ ” There was no way Giles could have sounded any more dumbfounded. “Your witness pointed outside at a _dealership_ and you didn’t confirm which vehicle he was pointing at? Bloody hell. So the pair of you went out looking for the wrong demon because the Watcher didn’t follow up the report, and the Slayer didn’t track down the witness and hadn't the natural wit to confirm what she was told?”

Faith shrugged insolently. “Demon’s dead for all of that, G. Take a chill pill, why don’tcha? It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that...” Giles swallowed hard, and suddenly realised that Xander, Willow, Oz and Buffy herself were listening, fascinated. “Wesley, a word, please. In the office.” He turned away without looking to see if Wesley followed him, confident, capable, the Watcher who would _never_ make such an elementary mistake. Wesley, shoulders hunched, face showing a mixture of resentment and apprehension, followed. Faith looked around at the others, plainly seeing that they agreed with Giles, and chose to go too, slamming the office door behind her so that the blind rattled and fell against the glass, leaving only vague figures to be seen from outside.

Giles was beyond mad, she knew that. She knew why, too: Giles was mad at Wesley for not doing his job right, and putting Faith in danger. That wasn’t hard: Giles got real mad at any of them if he reckoned that they weren’t taking the slayage seriously, and she was likely to get hurt along of it. He didn’t _like_ Faith much – none of them did – but she was a Slayer and nothing offended Giles like the thought of a Slayer getting hurt. She reckoned he was mad at Faith too, for putting _herself_ in danger, for not taking her own slayage seriously. He was spitting tacks, but of course Giles was too much of a proper English gentleman to rip Wesley a new one in front of them. Snippy remarks, yes; sarcasm, yes; a proper telling off from a senior Watcher to a junior? No, that would be done in private, and Giles wouldn’t think that he’d been fired, he had no right to get on Wesley’s case. He would think that a careless Watcher might end up with a dead Slayer and she reckoned Wesley was about to get his ass handed to him big time.

Well, it might do him some good. From what he and Faith had said, he had it coming, and frankly so did Faith, or ought to. It didn’t matter that Giles wasn’t really supposed to be a Watcher any more. Even if it wasn’t official, he had every right to...

Well, to what? What did a senior Watcher say – or do – to a junior one who had screwed up? She couldn’t imagine.

She could. She could so imagine it. She could so imagine Giles facing Wesley down and asking him, and asking...

“What in hell’s name did you think you were _doing?_ You _know_ how important it is to be properly prepared – for the _Slayer_ to be properly prepared.”

“Mr Giles, I, I know that I’ve fallen down on an aspect of my job...”

“Wesley, keeping the Slayer alive isn’t an _aspect_ of your job. It _is_ your job. It is the be-all and end-all of your job. It is the only reason you are here. It is the only reason you went through however many years of education and training to become a Watcher.”

“I made a mistake!”

Giles nodded. “You made _the_ mistake. Who teaches recognition practices now? It was Christie in my day and he would have had your balls for such a basic mistake.”

Wesley went limp. “It’s still Professor Christie.”

“Gods and goddesses preserve you then, because Christie won’t. Not once that gets to the meeting of the Section Heads. Jesus bloody wept, a mistake like that from an Active Watcher? You might as well go and pack, Wesley; Christie’s going to want your head, and he’s got enough seniority that Travers and your father won’t be able to save you.”  

Faith quivered with indignation. “You’re gonna grass him up? For making a mistake? You telling me you never screwed up, G?”

Giles looked disdainfully down his nose at her. “I, I beg your pardon, I don’t think I understand you.”

“You gonna tell on him, run tattling to, to what did you call them? Section Heads? Because he made a mistake?”

“I,” said Giles coldly, “am going to do precisely nothing. Wesley, as you put it, screwed up. That is his own responsibility. An Active Watcher submits a monthly report, in writing, to the Section Heads of the Council, in advance of their policy meeting. Wesley will report his own actions. The senior staff will act as they think fit.”

She looked at Wesley. “Don’t tell them.”

Giles’ expression was polite disdain; Wesley’s was blind horror. “Of _course_ I have to tell them!”

“Why? I wouldn’t.”

Giles smiled a little, and the ‘no, you probably wouldn’t’ was all the louder for remaining unsaid. Wesley continued to look shocked.

“It’s, it’s a matter of honour. We Watchers,” and he cast a slightly conspiratorial look at Giles, who looked a little less blank and a little more sympathetic, “are expected to, to police ourselves. To take responsibility for our own actions. We have to judge ourselves to make sure that we’re fit for our work. The Watcher Diaries aren’t just a resource for future Watchers and Slayers, you know. They’re...” He struggled for a word.

“Confessional documents,” said Giles, calmly. “I must admit, I’m quite glad that I don’t have to send mine back to London any more. One pleasant consequence of losing my official status: nobody sees it now but me.”

“You still write it up?” Wesley was curious; then he flushed. “Sorry. Not my business.”

“I do,” agreed Giles. “Habit, partly; partly that writing down the day’s observations helps clear the mind. Admitting to one’s faults is painful but necessary. I continue to do it because I think it’s valuable, even without the idea that someone else will read it.”

Faith was gaping at them. “Yeah, but... you’re expected to _tell_ them in London that you screwed up, when you know that they’ll...”

“In all likelihood, they’ll recall me,” said Wesley, miserably. Faith turned her gaze onto Giles. He shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. It’s between Wesley and his conscience. I won’t interfere if he doesn’t do it.”

“But you’ll despise him!” Faith was outraged. He shrugged again.

“I know what Wesley did – or rather didn’t do. It’s serious, Faith. I’m more concerned about that than about, about him telling people in London. I don’t suppose Wesley cares what I think about his character.”

Wesley made a faint miserable sound, that somehow made it plain without words that he did care, he cared a great deal.

“But...” Faith was still outraged. “You seriously think he’ll get canned? For something that was half my fault?”

“When Professor Christie hears? Yes.”

“Do something about it!”

“Me? Why?”

She couldn’t keep still; three paces took her across the office, and the same back again. “G, it’s not fair!”

“It’s not fair that Wesley should be held accountable for actions that might have resulted in your death? In the Hellmouth being unguarded until your replacement arrived?”

“Buffy’s here!”

He made a face of partial agreement. “But that has nothing to do with it. You – the pair of you – didn’t do what you did based on Buffy being here. It was sheer laziness and lack of application. In any event, there isn’t anything I _can_ do. It’s Wesley’s decision and he can live with the consequences either way. I do believe, yes, that if he confesses, Professor Christie will insist on his recall. I will promise you, if you like, that if he chooses not to, I will not say anything unless, by some unlikely chance, I am asked directly. I will not lie, but I can’t imagine why I should be asked.”

“But you’ll despise him.” She repeated it, accusingly.

“Why do _you_ care? I know you’re indifferent to what I think of either you or him. I’m not convinced that you care much what _he_ thinks of either you or me.”

She cast him a look of some dislike, and Wesley one of mild contempt. “I don’t, much. But Wesley goes on and _on_ about _Mr Giles says_. I can’t stand the nagging.”

Wesley blushed; Giles averted his eyes politely and said nothing. Then Wesley coughed nervously. “There’s... that is, if you... I would...”

They both looked at him. His blush deepened.

“I was... I was just thinking that you’re my senior, and, and I know that _technically_ you have no standing but...” He dried up. Giles looked impatient.

“What _about_ it, man? Spit it out.”

Wesley looked imploringly at Faith. “This is Watcher business; you, there’s no reason why, it won’t interest you, you could just go.”

She shook her head. “Not going until this is sorted, Wes.”

“Mr Giles has already promised...”

“And you haven’t. G’s right. Spit it out.”

Wesley looked past Giles’ ear at the pinboard behind him. “I was mentored by Richmond,” he said loudly, and then stalled again. Giles looked puzzled.

“Do I know Richmond? Do I need to? I knew a David Richmond; he was tutoring when I went in first, but I haven’t seen him in twenty years. He can’t be who you mean, surely? He must be retired by now.”

“His daughter,” said Wesley, in a strangled tone. “Louise. Ten years older than me. Um... Old-fashioned in her mentoring methods.”

Giles continued to look blank. Faith sighed, noisily. “Wes, I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.”

Wesley looked at his feet. “The annual intake of Watcher trainees has a Novice Master or Mistress, one of the tutors, who’s in charge of, well, everything. You can’t go on to the next stage of training until the Novice Master approves. As well as that, each trainee is given into the care of a recently qualified Watcher, a mentor, three or four trainees to one mentor. There are some rather old-fashioned rules within the mentoring agreement. One of them is that if the trainee screws up, he’s supposed to confess, of his own accord, to the Novice Master. There’s an understanding that if the screw-up is relatively minor, the mentor deals with it and the Novice Master never gets to hear about it, or pretends not to. Rather like, well, like dealing with the prefects at school, rather than with one’s House Master.”

He ground to a halt; Faith was wearing an expression of total exasperation. “Geez, Wes, get to the _point_! So _what_?”

Wesley refused to catch anybody’s eye. “I was just... it was just...”

Giles sighed. “You were just _what?”_

“You’re my senior,” said Wesley again, despairingly, begging for comprehension. Faith thought she had it.

“So you confess to Giles, Giles says you’re an idiot, you agree, that’s the end of it? Cool. Do that.”

Giles said nothing; Wesley looked at his feet. Faith stamped her own foot. “ _What?_ What am I not getting?”

“It’s not enough,” said Wesley, quietly. “That... that’s just the same as me not telling them in London and trusting Mr Giles not to tell them either."

“With the added effect of trying to shift the responsibility to my shoulders, both morally and as it relates to the Council,” added Giles dryly. “No, thank you.”

“No!” wailed Wesley. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Well, what _do_ you bloody mean?” Giles snapped. “Stop pussy-footing around the subject, Wesley, and say what you do mean.”

“Louise Richmond was, she, I, she used the, the, insisted on the full terms of the agreement.”

Giles made a sudden leap to understanding and laughed aloud. “Good lord! She never did? Even in my day that was old-fashioned – we certainly never... She... seriously?”

Wesley, scarlet, nodded.

“She did what?” pushed Faith, irritated. “Wes, what are you talking about?”

Wesley bit his thumbnail. “ _Please_ , Faith, just go away? Let me talk to Mr Giles?”

She shook her head obstinately. Giles rolled his eyes; he was learning bad habits from the Scoobies. “I fear, Wesley, that you will have to spell out what you want. I am not taking the risk that we aren’t fully understanding each other. Faith, go away.”

She leaned back against the door, mirroring his own stance. “No. Talk, Wesley.”

Wesley took a deep breath and addressed the telephone on the desk, refusing to look at either of them. “The mentoring agreement goes back... a couple of hundred years at least. Things were... were different. The trainees were, they used to be younger. The mentor has the right – and it’s never been rescinded, although Mr Giles is right, it, it fell out of favour after the War.”

“Nouns, Wesley,” said Giles, amused. “Also verbs. And keeping to the point – you’re hiding among subordinate clauses."

From Wesley’s expression, he was expecting the telephone to do something terrifying at any moment; he stared fixedly at it. “A mentor has the right to punish a trainee.” He swallowed hard. “Physically."

Giles nodded, slowly, once. “And in that case, the matter is considered closed, and the Novice Master is not informed of it. As I say, I have never actually heard of a mentor who did it.”

“Louise did. You... you could.”

“I am not your mentor and never was. The Council never found me reliable enough to give me mentor status. You are no longer a trainee, you are a fully fledged and apparently trusted Watcher.” He held back the ‘God knows why’ but again, they all heard it.

“You’re senior to me, and, and I don’t know enough to...” Wesley swallowed again. “I’m not ready to Watch for a Slayer. I don’t know how.”

“I don’t work for the Council.”

Wesley managed an unconvincing smile. “They know you’re Watching for Buffy. You’re... _de facto_ if not _de jure_.”  

“Wait,” said Faith blankly. “Huh. Wes... you’re suggesting... what? That Giles should... huh?”

There was a long silence and then Giles said calmly, “Say it out loud, Wesley, what you want. I told you, I’m not risking discovering that you don’t mean what I think you mean.”

Wesley shut his eyes. “Louise would have given me twelve strokes of the cane,” he whispered. Faith gaped at him, and then at Giles.

“And you think he – Giles – should do that?”

Wesley nodded, eyes still shut. Faith stared at Giles. “You gonna?”

He hesitated; Wesley gazed at him imploringly; he nodded once, sharply, and they all pretended not to hear Wesley’s gasp of relief. “I, I don’t quite know how we’ll arrange it, because I have no idea where one would go for a cane here...”

“I have one,” said Wesley, in a small voice. “Louise made us all keep one in our weapons cases. Mine’s still there.”

Giles maintained a carefully blank face, but Faith smirked. “This Richmond chick musta been quite something, huh? Kept you in line?”

Wesley coloured again; Giles turned on her. “You think it’s amusing? This is serious, Faith, it isn’t something that, that...”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever. The Council’s never made it out of the Middle Ages and neither have you. I’m not sure Wesley’s ever even made it that far. God knows why he wants this; God knows why you agreed to do it. Kinky, both of you. Maybe that’s why? That what you want, G? Bit of...”

“Shut _up,_ Faith,” snapped Wesley, suddenly finding his tongue. “That’s not why... it’s not Mr Giles who... it’s me.”

“You the kinky one? Wouldn’t ever have thought it of you, Wes.”

“Just go, Faith.” Giles sounded contemptuous. “Wesley is facing his own inadequacies and correcting them as best he can. You don’t even _recognise_ yours. I do: you’re thoughtless, careless, amoral, casually unkind, selfish and not nearly as clever as you think you are. You’ve already admitted that you were as much at fault as Wesley here, but you certainly wouldn’t have the courage to accept correction. Get out.”

There was a brief moment in which she stared at him, her mouth dropping open. “You calling me a coward?”

“Yes. You’re a coward, you’re a liar, and you’re a user. Wesley’s worth two of you.”

Wesley gave a squeak of surprise, hastily muffled.

“Excuse me? Wes told me I was facing a Foreg that wouldn’t come to my knees, and I had to rescue him from a damn big thing! Without me he’d be demon-chow by now!”

“And who told him the wrong colour? You’re all mouth, you absolutely haven’t the courage even now that you know that we know, to admit to your own mistakes. Go _away_. If you’re not taking your own share of the penalty, you don’t get to watch while Wesley does.”

“Are you suggesting... what are you suggesting?”

He didn’t allow his eyes to leave Faith. “Fetch the cane, Wesley.”

Wesley, silently, slipped past Faith into the library and made for the weapons cage, coming back with a case which he set on the nearest table. Giles, with one last contemptuous glance at Faith, joined him and watched as he opened the box and removed two swords from their bindings, setting them aside and rolling back the padding beneath. The cane lay diagonally across the base of the box. Giles reached for it, drawing it out carefully, and testing it between his hands for the degree of spring. Wesley shuddered, and Giles glanced at him.

“I, I was never a mentor, Wesley, but I do know what I’m doing. My father was strict with my brother and me and I may not have been Head Boy at the Watchers’ Academy, but I was the senior prefect at school.”

“Sweet,” sneered Faith; Giles cocked an eyebrow at her and made the cane hiss viciously in the air. Despite herself, she flinched.

“Are you still here? I told you: if you haven’t the guts to take your fair share, go.” The cane hissed once more. “Twelve for Wesley or six each. Not keen? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Faith looked at Wesley, who turned his head away. Giles laughed. “Wesley’s conflicted, Faith: he _knows_ how much it hurts. He won’t admit it, but deep down he wants you to take half of it to save his arse. He’ll never say so because he thinks that as a gentleman – which he is – he should save a lady – which you are decidedly not.” He paused for consideration. “There may also be an element,” he allowed, “of him believing that I would think badly of him for allowing you to be hurt when he could prevent it. In that, he is mistaken. With another woman, possibly I _would_ think so. In your case, I would not. I think you deserve a caning at least as much as he does, but I doubt if you could take it."

She sputtered indignantly. “I can take whatever he can!”

Giles raised a disbelieving eyebrow and looked down his nose; she quivered with rage. “I can! Six each, G.”

Wesley looked up in amazement. “Faith...”

“I can! What do we have to do?” That sounded a little less sure. Neither Wesley nor Faith saw Giles smile to himself as he moved a little further into the library.

“Wesley, what were Miss Richmond’s rules?”

Wesley looked blank for a moment, before catching up. “Just, keep still. If you put your hands behind you, or tried to get up without permission you got that one repeated and an extra one at the end for cowardice.” He shuddered; obviously there was an unpleasant memory there.

“Good enough. My rule is, no swearing. I don’t care how much noise you make, provided it doesn’t include bad language. Same penalty – the stroke repeated and one extra for lack of self-control. One of you at each end of this table, please. Bend over. Faith, I recommend that you hold on: I think this may surprise you.” Wesley obeyed without enthusiasm but without hesitation; the desk took him mid-thigh and he settled his elbows on the surface, his hands going wide to the table edges, and his chest lowered between his forearms, head turned to one side. Faith watched, and copied him. Her shorter stature left her more neatly doubled over the edge, but she kept her head up.

“We’ll go in twos, I think,” murmured Giles, affably, and stepped behind Wesley, who screwed his eyes shut. “I, I imagine that you’ll both wish soon enough that you’d worn denim.”

Wesley’s eyes snapped open again. “Hell, she’s in leggings!” he discovered. “Mr Giles...”

“I’ll allow for it,” Giles assured him, lining the cane neatly across the seat of Wesley’s own fine wool trousers. Wesley braced himself conspicuously; the cane gave that horrible hissing sound again, and cracked loudly. Wesley jumped, and his knuckles turned white on the table edge, but he made no sound. The second stroke made him grunt; Faith’s expression was slowly morphing from indignation to apprehension, unrelieved when Giles strode from Wesley’s end of the table to hers. She half twisted to look at him; he smiled at her but she didn’t seem to find it reassuring. “Eyes front,” he chided, mildly. “You don’t need to see.”

He didn’t tap the cane so she had no warning when the first stroke whistled in, and her eyes and mouth both opened widely, although she seemed unable to make a sound. He waited, eyes narrowed as he judged the moment at which the pain had reached its peak and landed a second stroke half an inch below the first. Faith bucked and squealed in shock, her arms went wide as if she was swimming, and Giles smiled again at her surprise. "Not so mouthy now, are you? Want to quit?”

She twisted again, her expression one of deep shock, and he looked politely enquiring. “I’m sure Wesley will take your other four if you ask him. If you aren’t brave enough.”

Her jaw set, and she shook her head stubbornly; Giles walked back around the desk. “Legs straight, please, Wesley. Push up a little.”

Wesley, with a look of dismay, did as he was told, arching his neck to touch his forehead to the table. Plainly he knew what this presaged, and didn’t care for it.

“A little lower this time,” announced Giles, and struck, snake fast. Wesley cried out, strangling back the sound into a groan, but the second stroke brought him up onto his toes, panting. Faith made a faint noise in echo, and Wesley, taking a couple of deep breaths, raised his head to look at her. She was nervously watching Giles’ approach. “Same, please, Faith. Legs straight, push up. I’m sure you’ve worked it out from Wesley’s reactions, but the lower I go, the more you’ll feel it. Nice and still, please.”

She managed the first, with another squeal, but on the second her grip on the table failed. She was half way to the vertical when Wesley lunged up, grabbed her wrists and pulled her down again. Giles shook his head disappointedly. “Oh dear me no. Moving without permission, Faith. That last one again, and one extra at the end, for _cowardice_.” He emphasized the word, resting the cane lightly against her, and she broke, tears welling up, pulling against Wesley’s grip.

“She... she didn’t move,” said Wesley hoarsely. “That was me. I moved.”

The cane was motionless. “Faith? Did you move? Or did Wesley?”

She didn’t answer; he tapped warningly. “Faith!”

She whimpered, and Wesley looked imploringly at Giles. “I moved,” he insisted.

“Have it your own way,” agreed Giles, but there was a little more warmth in his voice than had been there before. “That one again, then,” as he came back to Wesley’s side, but although he touched the cane gently to the lower slope of the presented curve, the blow was higher, and not as hard as the previous one had been, and Wesley managed it with no more than a sharp inhalation. “And two more.” It seemed the single stroke had been an aberration; the last two were delivered very hard, very fast, and very low down, and Wesley couldn’t hold back the cry; he was still holding Faith’s hands and she gasped as his grip tightened, and then tightened her own as Giles circled the table again. “Last two, Faith.”

Hers were just as Wesley’s had been, and she yelled without inhibition; he pinned her hands to the table until she stopped squirming. There was a moment’s silence.

“Stand up, both of you. I haven’t forgotten that you’re due one more, Wesley.”

Wesley pushed himself up slowly and with some care, and stood very still. Faith levered herself off the table, twisting, squirming, shifting from foot to foot.

“Stand still.”

She did, but it was plainly an effort.

“Wesley, are you left-handed, or right?”

Wesley lifted wretched eyes to Giles’ face, plainly understanding the point of the question. “Right.”

“Come a little this way. Left hand out, please, thumb well back. A little higher. Keep it flat, keep it still. In fact, I suggest that you look over here at Faith. Don’t take your eyes off her. You don’t need to watch this happen. Faith, you _do_ need to watch. Wesley, you may _not_ swear, but you may move as quickly as you like. Clear?”

Wesley squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’m ready, Mr Giles.”

The cane touched his palm, lightly, twice – and then sang. Faith cried out, but Wesley howled, torso curling, left hand clamped under his arm, right fist against his mouth, obviously to stop the torrent of profanity that wanted to issue forth. Giles waited until he could compose himself, and held out the cane. “Put that away. This matter is now closed. You may leave whenever you wish.”

Faith stalked across the library, face flushed, temper plainly gone. The door banged behind her. Giles, displaying his normal chill, followed her out, with Wesley, puppy-fashion, behind.

“Show me your hand, Wesley.”

She knocked over her soda can; fortunately it was empty but that didn’t save her from the patented Giles glare. Wesley, totally cowed, held out his hand.

“Make a fist. Now rotate your wrist. Move your thumb. Hmm.”

“It’s just bruising and grazes, Mr Giles. I fell when we... when Faith...”

“Yes. Xander, fetch the first aid kit.”

Wesley winced when Giles cleaned the long scrape; Giles was unsympathetic. “It’s your own damn fault. Have you got antiseptic at home? And arnica? Use them again before you go to bed. Now sit down and do something useful: since Cordelia isn’t here, collate these cards." He stalked off to replace the first aid kit on the shelf, and shut the office door behind him.

“All bark, no bite,” murmured Oz, eyes on his book. “Sure you’ve noticed. When any of us gets hurt, Giles blisters our ears for carelessness.”

Wesley sat down beside him, and reached for the cards, without looking at anybody.

“But he always wants to check himself to see how bad the damage is. Always very gentle with the antiseptic.” Oz turned a page. “Always careful to tell you what you _should_ have done as well as what you _shouldn’t_. He worries a lot about people.” 

The library was quiet.

“Yes,” said Wesley, shakily. “I’d noticed.”


	6. Spike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come on, everybody wants to.

When the door banged, she deliberately didn’t look up, expecting it to be Faith come back for something.

“What’s up with the Spare?”

Not Faith. Giles looked out of the office.

“Spike. What do you want, and go away.”

“Well, that’s nice, innit? Who says I want anything?”

“You always do. What is it this time?”

Spike sniffed. “Bit of peace and quiet, mebbe?” He flipped a cigarette out of the ever-present pack, and reached for the lighter; Giles took three steps across the room, flicked the cigarette out of his hand and dropped it in the empty pizza box. Spike’s nose wrinkled disdainfully. "Aw, you got it all greasy! Can’t even save it for later that way.”

“You may not smoke in here, and you know it. If you want to smoke, go somewhere else. In fact, go somewhere else.”

“Not going out there. The Spare’s in a snit an’ I don’t trust her to know that I’m one of the good guys. She’s lookin’ for somethin’ to stake and I’d rather it weren’t me.”

“You’re losing your touch,” said Giles, absently. “That was a subjunctive, correctly used.”

“Damn.”

“Indeed. Faith is out of temper because I had cause to point out an error of judgment on her part. Don’t call her the Spare, it’s rude.”

“Thought it was your job to point out her errors of judgment?” Spike asked Wesley.

“Only when they aren’t my errors too,” muttered Wesley.

“Ooh. The Watcher been handin’ out spankin’s wholesale? Have I missed a fight?”

This time she managed not to break anything, spill anything or drop anything. She was quite pleased with herself, but for all that, Spike turned, as if he heard her make some sound. He smiled at her. “Hello, Slayer,” he purred. “Whatcha doin? Whatcha readin? Something... salacious?"

Oh God, he knew. He couldn't know, but he knew. She froze, with the animal instinct of _not here I’m not here you can’t see me_. It did her no good; he came towards her, hips rolling suggestively, and leaned over. Giles made an odd sound – and Spike, fast as a snake, _licked_ the side of her face, jaw to temple.

Slayer speed or not, she missed his intention until he’d done it, and then normal non-Slayer _ewwwwww_ reaction kicked in before Slayer skills did. She had a hand at her face, scrubbing her cheek, before she thought of staking him or hitting him or even getting out of her seat. Oz was half way from his, Willow had a hand coming up in a witchy gesture, and even Xander was reaching for the stake he had been fiddling with while he read. Wesley was a beat behind, but maybe his Watcher instincts weren’t as bad as they all thought: he might be slow but a slender knife had appeared from somewhere inside his dark wool jacket.

Giles didn’t wait for them. Spike somehow was travelling through the air, crashing into the spare table, which overturned, and skidding along the floor. Giles followed him, lifting him by the neck of his tee shirt and shaking him, snarling back as Spike vamped out and dragging him towards the rest of them. There was a crack as the back of Spike’s head met the table and Giles’ fingers closed around Xander's stake.

Spike stilled, his face morphing away from the fangs-and-brows look, back to ivory smoothness, his hands open and flat by the sides of his head. “Pax, pax,  I yield. You shouldn’t be able to do that, you know. S’not decent, somebody human bein’ able to sneak up on a vampire. S’not right.”

“Watcher,” said Wesley, distantly; she was impressed by the way he held the knife. He was an idiot, but he looked like an idiot who could cut somebody’s throat. “Not _absolutely_ human. Not any more."

“Shut up, Wesley,” said Giles, absently and without heat, his attention fixed on Spike. “What was that about?”

Spike turned his head a fraction, and Giles lifted him by the front of his shirt, banging him down again. “Don’t look away. Tell me what that was about.”

Spike grinned and bucked, his hips driving up against Giles’ torso; Giles swore violently and let go, backing away.

“Oh, go on, Watcher. Let’s play. I don’t really care about her, but you could be entertainin’.” He looked mischievously over his shoulder at the others and then back at Giles. “Little fight, little... fun? You like that. I know you do.”

Like... huh? But Xander was yawning ostentatiously. “If that was supposed to shock us all with the gen that Giles is bisexual, Bleachboy, then I gotta tell you that it’s not breaking news. Known that just about for ever.”

_Huh?_

But Willow was nodding sagely and Oz murmured some sort of confirmation; Spike looked at Wesley who shrugged and leaned back in his chair, obviously agreeing. The bright eyes reached her; she managed a nod, although her mind was shrieking _Huh? Giles is bi? How come everybody knew but me? How did they find out? What other stuff do I not know that everybody else does?_

Giles’ expression was shifting from anger and dismay to malicious amusement. “That fell rather flat, Spike, didn’t it?”

Spike made a face and sat up, not fast enough for Giles to think him threatening. “Did, a bit. Not with a bang, but a whimper.”

“Eliot,” said Willow, automatically; Spike shot a glance at her, almost approving.

“Yeah, well, if the cat’s out of the bag, Watcher, no need to waltz around the subject, is there? Wanna play?”

There was a long silence, and then Wesley sat up a little straighter. “All right, I know that six impossible things before breakfast is a basic part of everybody’s training but... did I just hear a _vampire_ proposition a _Watcher?_ ”

“If you did, I did too,” said Xander in an odd voice.  

“I’m so glad that it’s not paracusia on my part,” drawled Giles. “Paranoia, possibly.”

“It’s not paranoia if he really _is_ out to get you,” observed Wesley helpfully; Giles looked away from Spike long enough to glare at him.

“It’s not _that_ unlikely,” Spike objected, clearly insulted. They all stared at him.

“It is.” Xander was definite, and Willow was nodding.

“The Slayer got it on with Peaches!”

“And thank you for reminding me of that.” Giles shuddered, and his right hand flexed. She looked away hastily, but Spike smirked.

“Come on, Watcher, you telling me that you don’t find me attractive?”

“Yes,” said Giles, harshly.

“Would be more convincing if I couldn’t hear your heartbeat. Feel your body heat. If you weren’t throwing off pheromones.”

“I am passionately attached to Wesley.”

Spike cast a withering glance at Wesley, who was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his expression blank and free of panic.

“Hate to tell you, but the boy’s straight as a Roman road.”

 “I am aware that my ardour is not returned. A gentleman does not pay his attentions where they are not welcome. You should know that – but oh! You’re not a gentleman, are you? That would explain it.”

“An’ neither are you. There are stories goin’ the rounds, Watcher, stories about sex an’ drugs an’ rock an’ roll. With added demons.”

Giles looked down his nose. “Do I _look_ like someone who would be interested in those things?”

“Yeah,” said Spike flatly. “You do. You look like somebody who wants to think he’s given them up. _Wants_ to think so. Doesn’t really believe it. I’ve talked to some demons, Watcher. You’ve got history. Back story. You’ve been around the block a bit. You’ve...”

“Yes, _thank_ you, there is no need for you to prove that you know _every_ cliché in the English language. Nonetheless, whatever I may have done in the past, whatever I may still be willing to do now, I am not willing to do it with you.”

“I’m really good in bed!”

“No.”

“I promise I won’t bite.”

“No.”

“I can get you a copy of the Malabar Incunabulum.”

She thought Giles wavered. “Well... Still no.”

“Why?” asked Wesley, suddenly. Giles glared at him again.

“Because most of the contents of the Malabar Incunabulum are available in other texts, and I already have access to them.”

Wesley blushed. “No, I didn’t mean, why were you saying no,” he assured Giles hastily. “I understand that. I don’t understand why the vampire’s asking you. I mean, as you say, I’m straight. Completely. But, well, even I can see that he’s good-looking.”

“Didn’t know you cared,” purred Spike, suggestively. Wesley shook his head.

“I don’t, of course, but I’m not blind. I can see that you would be attractive, and of course, you have the whole vampire glamour-with-a-small-g thing going for you, as well as the true Glamour, the charisma thing. So why are you approaching Mr Giles?"

“Are you saying I’m _not_ attractive, Wesley?” asked Giles with exaggerated offence. Willow giggled, and Wesley panicked.

“I... um! That is... I just... of course you...”

Oz sniggered. “Insecure much, Giles?”

Giles smiled affectionately at him. “Terribly,” he agreed. Wesley, with Giles’ attention turned elsewhere, recovered himself.

“All I’m saying,” he went on, steadily, “is that the vampire wouldn’t have any particular difficulty in, in _pulling_ , or I wouldn’t have thought so, either within the local demon nests, or among the, the less well informed humans. So why is he propositioning the man _least_ likely to say yes?”

“It’s a good question,” agreed Giles. “Answer it, Spike.” That last was hard and threatening, and Spike flinched and looked away, and muttered something.

“I beg your pardon?” Wesley looked politely enquiring.

The vampire turned, desperation in his face. “I _said_ , because he could hurt me. He knows how. He’s done that sort of thing before, haven’t you, Watcher? Played a bit with whips and chains?”

“Way to go, Giles,” commented Xander, brightly. “Not only does he drag you out of the closet, but he leaves the doors open so we can see what’s hanging up at the back. I say again, Spike, _not_ breaking news.”

The others stared at him, and Giles buried his face in his hands.

“Xander...”

“What? Come on, Giles, Ripper and the handcuffs? Buffy may have said that you should never tell _her_ – or was it her mom she said it to? – but she wasn’t shy about sharing the horror with _us_. We’ve had a long time to get used to the idea.”

“Oh!” discovered Willow. “I’d forgotten that, Xander. So yeah, Giles and the bondage games. And Spike thinks there could be spanky games as well? O.K., that works.”

“I’m coming around to your suggestion,” Giles told Spike; “your conversation is disturbing but it’s less disturbing than theirs. Also, the idea of hurting you is certainly very appealing.”

“No, wait,” put in Xander. “If you’re gonna do it, Giles, you gotta give us long enough to buy popcorn and get tickets printed. If you’re gonna hurt Bleachboy, we are _so_ watching. We’ll leave before you get to anything wiggy, we just want to see him suffer.”

Spike snarled and vamped out towards Xander, who stared back, unflinching; Giles slapped the vampire hard across the back of the head. “Xander, behave yourself. Spike, that’s not half an explanation. I can well believe that your idea of fun involves pain, but I don’t believe that it isn’t pain for somebody else, and I can’t imagine why you thought I would want to be involved. Elucidate. Now.”

“Shan’t,” said Spike sulkily. “You don’t wanna play, you don’t have to. You can jus’ mind yer own business about it.”

Giles reached forward, quite slowly, and wound his hand once again in Spike’s collar. Spike, oddly, didn’t resist. “It _is_ my business, Spike. _You_ are my business. I’m a Watcher, remember? My business is looking after a Vampire Slayer. You’re a vampire and you’re behaving in a way I don’t understand. So call it research, if you like, but I want to know what is going on in that tiny space you laughingly call your mind.” He shook Spike, who seemed to go limp; they stared at each other until Spike suddenly looked away.

“Dru’s gone.”

“And let me just say yay for that.”

“Xander, if you can’t be quiet you can go home.”

Xander raised both hands in surrender. Spike looked at the floor.

“I miss her.”

“You miss her,” repeated Giles, expressionlessly.

“She knew how to hurt people. I miss her so much: she could really make me _scream_ ,” said Spike, wistfully. “I’ve never met _anybody_ who could hurt me like she did."

“And you thought that maybe Giles could do it? Awww, that’s so sweet,” cooed Willow, “in a totally creepy and wiggy way.”

“I think it’s a compliment, Mr Giles,” agreed Wesley.

“Course it’s a soddin’ compliment,” sniffed Spike, insulted. “Not gonna let just _anybody_ hurt me."

“Damn.”

_“Xander!”_

“’S all right, Watcher, I know the boy’s all mouth an’ no trousers.”

“English phrasing, Xander, _not_ a compliment,” Wesley explained helpfully.

“Thanks, I think I got it.”

“Although the original phrase was ‘all mouth and trousers’ – that is, impertinence and sexual aggression without real substance, and a better description of Spike himself than of you. I believe it started as Lancashire slang.”

“So...” interrupted Spike, loudly, glaring at them both. “You know you want to, Watcher. What about it?”

Giles frowned. “Assuming you’re telling the truth – which is by no means certain – still no. Although, I confess, I’m flattered. And the notion of hurting you is very appealing but… No. Thank you."

Spike shrugged, resignedly. “Offer stands, then, until Dru comes back, or you’re dead or turned... I’m tellin’ you, you don’t know what you’re missin’. Actually, if you get turned, look me up, yeah? That could be _really_ good.”

Giles showed his teeth; it couldn’t possibly be deemed a smile. “Now go away.”

“Can’t I stay for a bit? Just until the Spare finds somebody else to stake? If she stakes me, you’ll be sorry.”

“If you’re staying, you’re working,” said Giles, dryly, pushing one of the heavier tomes across the desk in the vampire’s direction. "Everything from that on the subject of the Knugh Prophecies, please, and try to keep your handwriting legible. And once again, you may _not_ smoke.”

Spike, who had produced another cigarette, sighed ostentatiously and lodged it behind his ear. “Yes, boss. Whatever you say, boss. Notes on the Knugh Prophecies. Wouldn’t do it for just _anybody,_ but since it’s you that’s askin’...”

“Thank you,” said Giles, refusing to rise. “Oh, and Spike? _Pax?_ What are you, five? You think you’ll stop me staking you by crying _pax_?”

Spike grinned and shrugged; Wesley snorted with amusement, and the atmosphere broke, although Giles turned his strongest glare on the rest of them. Willow was giving him her best ‘isn’t it romantic’ look; Oz was plainly entertained and Wesley confused; Xander was... she wasn’t certain what Xander was, and she herself was a mixture of bewildered and totally, like _totally_ , wigged. The concept of Giles and sex was always wiggy, nothing new there. Giles and Miss Calendar, Giles and her mom – that one took wig to previously unrecognised limits – but Giles and _men_? _Giles_ and men _?_ And everybody _knew?_ Everybody knew and everybody was cool with it?

Not, of course, that _she_ wasn’t cool with it. Like O.K., she was a modern girl, she knew that some men had sex with other men, and some women had sex with other women, and some people were O.K. with either. But _Giles?_ And she was open-minded: personally she liked boys, and she didn’t think she could ever be interested in girls, but it wasn’t like there was anything _wrong_ with it. A man and another man, she was cool with that provided she didn’t have to hear the details. She knew – theoretically – what two men did together, and theoretically was as far as she wanted to go with it. It wasn’t _wrong_ – not if they both liked it – but it was _definitely_ wiggy and it wasn’t something that she would ever want to hear about. Or think about.

Spike and Giles? Wrong on so many levels. It was _Spike._ It was _Giles._ It was _Spike and Giles_. She totally could _not_ think of that as being anything other than...

Hot. Oh holy crap, it was _hot_. She could so _totally_ see that – she could see Giles, who could do such unlikely things when they were to do with the slayage, agreeing to hurt Spike in exchange for the Malibu Chronicles or whatever it was Spike had offered. She looked across the table, at Spike, who was opening the big book and looking at Giles.

“This what you wanted?”

Giles twisted his neck to look. “Yes.”

“We had a deal.”

“We do have a deal, and I’ll fulfil it. You were quite specific about what you wanted, Spike. It’s nothing I can’t do, but I do have some conditions of my own.”

Spike showed a bit of fang. “Changin’ the rules half way?”

“If you don’t agree to them, you can take the book and go.” Giles moved towards the book cage, and opened a box; Spike followed, and looked inside.

“Yeah, well, I don’t mind a bit of the old chains an’ shackles thing – in fact, I like it – but those aren’t ordinary chains, Watcher, are they?”

Giles smiled. “No.”

“So you want me to put on magic chains – chains I can’t get out of – willingly. When we both know you’re a quick man wi’ a stake.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t want much, do you?”

“Spike, you’re a vampire. You’re a very strong vampire. You’re stronger than me. We both know _that_ , too. If we do this, I’m going to hurt you.”

“Well, yeah, that was the point.”

“Indeed. And if I do it _right?_ If I hurt you a lot? You’ll vamp out. You won’t be able to help it. I may be quick with a stake, but you’re quick with those fangs, and I’m avoiding a pun on the subject of the quick and the dead, here. I have no desire to be either dead or turned.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I’m afraid not. I don’t have confidence that your intellect will be able to overpower your demon instincts. I, I do appreciate that I’m asking you to trust me when I won’t do the same for you, but...”

Spike’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah. You are.” He looked off into space.

“If, if you can’t do it, then... well, then...”

Spike shifted uneasily. “Do see the point. If you’re as good as you think you are...”

“I am,” said Giles, steadily. Spike’s chest heaved in a breath he didn’t need.

“Gotta trust you, then.” He held out his wrists. Giles smiled, slowly. Coldly.

“Oh no, not yet. First, I want you naked.”

Spike, who didn’t feel the cold, shivered. “Oh. Yeah.”

“No, Spike, not ‘yeah’. You know better than that.”

Spike, apparently did. His head dipped. “Yes, sir.”

“Better. Hurry up, then.”

For all that, Spike _didn’t_ hurry. The long coat came off and was reverently placed across a library table. The shirt, two sizes at least too small and clinging insolently to his chest, was rolled up and laid on top. He took his time unfastening and removing his boots – no socks – and then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and stared cockily at Giles.

“This is what you’re gettin’. So quid pro quo, Watcher: what am _I_ gettin’?”

Giles, his eyes on Spike’s face, slid his own jacket off without haste, and worked it onto the hanger that lived behind the office door. His tie followed, neatly rolled and safely stowed in the jacket pocket. Then, slowly and carefully, he began to roll up his sleeves.

“Not takin’ anything off?” Spike sniped. Giles simply smiled, slowly, almost kindly. Scarily. He nodded at Spike’s jeans.

“You won’t feel anything through those.”

“You’re not that good, if you can’t make me feel it through denim.” It was a challenge and Giles raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say you _couldn’t._ I said you _wouldn’t_.”

There was a beat while Spike worked that out, and then he grinned. “Ah. Right,” and skinned neatly out of the jeans.  

“Over here. There are some anchor points in the roof of the book cage.”

Spike followed him, and stopped, looking up; Giles picked up a length of chain. “Wrists, please.”

Spike hesitated, and then thrust both hands forward; Giles threw a loop of chain around them. “I, I do appreciate that this is a matter of trust. You, you probably won’t feel any better just because I say so, but you _can_ have confidence that I will do what I promised, no more and no less. Have, have you a safe-word?"

Spike gave an odd bark of amusement. “You think Dru would have let me have one?”

“I, I don’t, of course,” acknowledged Giles, smiling, “but I would be more comfortable if you did.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. Giles huffed in mild irritation. “Spike, if I intended to stake you, having given you my word that you would be safe – sore, maybe, but safe – I wouldn’t be asking you for a safe-word. If I were willing to break my word...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Either I trust you or I don’t. But if I do, why do I need a safe word? Face it, Watcher, I’m a vampire. You can’t do me any real lasting harm. Not unless you mean it."

Giles shrugged. “Do vampires get cramp? Do they get dizzy? Do they feel sick? Can they simply be overwhelmed and need a moment to catch their... to regroup? What if I say or do something that is too much like Drusilla? Or not enough? If you struggle and swear, I’m just going to ignore it – unless I know that you’re genuinely distressed. Even then... I’m not letting you down until I think you’re calm. Remember, Spike, I’m trusting you too – I think you’ll vamp out on me while you’re chained, and I’m trusting you that you won’t carry that over and want to kill me afterwards if I don’t give you precisely what you’re asking for – or if I do.”

Spike shifted one pale shoulder uneasily. “Yeah. I see. O.K. then, it’s ‘Drusilla’. An’ that’s yours as well, Watcher. If I’m vamping too hard to listen, or afterwards, if I go rogue, I... She’s important. So if you use her name, I’ll back off, yeah?”

Giles nodded solemnly, and threw the chain over the hook in the roof. “Ready?”

He was already pulling, so Spike’s word of agreement turned into a startled yelp as he was yanked off-balance, arms high in the air, toes scrabbling for purchase on the floor.

“Now, I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I brought several things. I have a clamp or two, only small ones.” He walked around Spike and flicked at a tight nipple. Spike squirmed. Giles’ hand crept lower. “I can think of several good places to put them.” Spike’s expression was shifting to a mixture of interest and apprehension, and Giles’ hand returned to cup his cheek. “Like the tip of your tongue, if you get mouthy with me, Spike, is that clear? I’m in charge here and _you are not_.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed Spike breathlessly.

Giles’ hand slid down again. “I have a cage.” He squeezed, not hard but warningly. “If I think you can’t control yourself, I’ll control you. You won’t like it.”

Spike’s eyes were wide.

“I have several plugs, various sizes. Do you like to be plugged, Spike?”

Spike’s eyelashes dipped and then he gave one sharp nod. Giles smiled, slowly. “And you like to be hurt. Have you a preference for how, or shall I just improvise?”

“Surprise me,” suggested Spike, sarcastically. Giles continued to smile, but he stilled, and looked at Spike searchingly.

“I expect I shall,” he agreed. “It will be no particular hardship to me.”

“Win-win,” muttered Spike, and Giles inclined his head in agreement.

“Shall we begin?”

“Do let’s,” agreed Spike, with innocent insolence.

“I shall, I think, leave your face alone. You’re a pretty thing, but you know that. As for the rest of you... You have a flexible back: that will be improved with some marks.” Giles stepped lightly around Spike, fingers trailing on cool skin. “Your chest...” He pinched a pink nipple and Spike grinned and squirmed. “Your thighs. Ever been banded, Spike?”

The vampire frowned. “What’s that?”

Giles smiled. “Oh, we must try that, if you don’t know it. And you know, your arse... it’s very pale. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

“Yeah,” agreed Spike, adding irrelevantly, “nice to hear it given its proper name.”

Giles gave a huff of laughter. “Well, there is that. Very well. You said that you liked a whip. I, ah, I don’t know if you meant something with a lash, but for one thing I don’t have one, and I hadn’t time to get one, and for another I’m not sure I could use one in a space this small without breaking the light-fittings. I do apologise, but you understand, I’m limited in available locations. However, I _do_ possess a riding crop. I trust that will be satisfactory.”

Spike sighed loudly. “Watcher, I thought you said you knew how to do this? A proper Top doesn’t _apologise_ to his Sub.”

Giles stepped close behind him, and slid a hand into his hair, pulling his head hard back. “A proper Top does what he bloody pleases, Spike, and a proper Sub is quiet and obedient and _grateful for the attention_. A proper Sub does not _criticise_.” He backed off, and picked up the crop. “A proper Top does not need to be discourteous - unless, of course, he feels like it. And I don’t.” He added balefully, “I don’t _need_ to. I can teach you manners without ever uttering an impolite word.” The crop snapped against Spike’s skin, and the vampire jerked in his chains. “Like this.”

It took him a little over fifteen minutes to lay a neat tracery of lines over Spike’s skin from shoulder to knee; there was a gap at waist level, where Giles had muttered something about ‘kidneys’, but he had made up for it by doubling his attention on the area from the middle of Spike’s backside to the top of his thighs, and Spike was writhing in his bonds, fangs dropped and digging into his lip, eyes closed, muscles shifting under the onslaught. Giles, breathing only a little fast, stepped back to consider his work.

“A decent start,” he approved; Spike snarled, but it didn’t have his usual edge. His eyes opened, glowing yellow, and he fidgeted a little, attention on Giles, who was considering the contents of a box. Presently he looked up and smiled pleasantly at Spike. “Clamps,” he said, cheerfully; “we have plenty.”

He had; he had enough to attach them to Spike’s nipples, to one earlobe, and to run a line down the tender skin on the underside of Spike’s upper arm. Oddly, it was the one on his ear that seemed to disturb Spike most; when Giles saw that, he added one to the other earlobe, and a smaller one to the top arch of the first ear. Spike swore, fervently; Giles frowned.

“Language. I have a few clothes pegs as well, Spike. Your tongue, remember?”

Spike’s fangs lengthened again; his tongue was obviously not going to be offered, but Giles laughed in true amusement, and attached a small plastic clip to Spike’s upper lip.

“I’m afraid you look rather ridiculous. Is that painful?”

Spike looked away; Giles flicked a finger lightly at the end of the clip, and laughed again. Then he sobered and retrieved a handful of metal rings and leather straps from his box. “The cage. I think, for your own safety, you’ll wear it.”

Spike’s eyes widened and he strained away, trying to speak past the plastic clip. Giles flicked it again. “I don’t believe I understand you. Not to worry. I’m being literal, Spike. You’re being quite good - _quite_ good - but I said I was going to introduce you to banding, didn’t I? And I think you’ll want the family jewels held out of the way. With a _human_ partner, I would make him hold everything, and stand still of his own accord, but since I think I want you to stay chained, you obviously can’t get your hands at your bollocks.” He unfastened a strap and looked into the vampire’s face. “I won’t make you say thank you, but believe me, presently you’ll be grateful for my care.”

It seemed unlikely, since having tidied Spike’s cock and balls inside the contraption, and tightened the strap, he first of all ran a slender chain through one of the rings and around the narrow waist, fastening it back to hold everything high, and then, whistling softly between his teeth and in the face of Spike’s desperate wriggles and heated objections, muffled only slightly by the attachment on his lip, he attached the remaining clips between the rings to the tender skin within. Spike’s yowl of discomfort was heartfelt, and his struggles were frantic but Giles paid no attention, backing away as he finished, and considering his artwork.

“I’ll take _one_ clamp off, Spike. One. Tell me which one you want. Politely.”

Spike snarled and fought; Giles raised an eyebrow and began to work his way around the clamps, flicking each one in turn. The ones on Spike’s underarm made him jerk, and the chains rattled; the ones on his ears made him squeal; he strained away from Giles fingers at his nipples and panted when they were touched; the two clamps on the underside of his cock had him bucking and swearing; the one pinning the tender skin over his balls made him wail, but it was when Giles raised a finger to his face that he resorted to words, however muffled. “That one! Take it off!”

Giles hesitated, the eyebrow still raised and Spike capitulated. “Please, sir, take that one off. Please.”

“Why am I not surprised?” enquired Giles rhetorically. “Not the one that hurts: the one that makes you look silly.” He removed it with exaggerated care, and rubbed briskly at the dented mark beneath; Spike, oddly, retracted his fangs and made no attempt to bite. Giles smiled approvingly, and his hands went to his own waist. Slowly he unfastened his belt, and pulled steadily, the leather end flick-flicking through the tweed loops. Spike stilled, and his expression changed to hopeful anticipation.

“You like leather,” said Giles; it wasn’t a question. “And you like it applied. You didn’t say so.” He came close and let his fingers trail around Spike’s waist, just above the narrow chain. “That was _naughty_ , Spike. Trying to deceive me.” His hand slid lower and he pinched a glowing buttock; Spike jerked. “Wasn’t it?”

Spike, in human face, licked his lips. “Yes, sir,” he agreed submissively. “Very naughty. I should be punished for it.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement on that point. I think perhaps I should use my belt on you.” Giles’ smile was complicit; Spike’s was blinding. The belt was doubled; Giles was pointedly careful to wrap the buckle end safely inside his hand. “Now, just let me get my eye in before we try…” His voice tailed away, and the doubled leather cracked briskly against Spike’s backside. Giles was putting some effort into it now, leaning his weight into the blows, not waiting for Spike to still from one before he landed another. There must have been twenty or so wicked smacks of leather against curved skin before he stepped away again. Spike, who didn’t need to breathe, was panting.

“Banding,” said Giles, evenly. “I promised to introduce you to banding. It’s… well, it’s easier to show you than tell you. I have to say, I don’t know how it will last on you: on a human, the marks can be made effective for a week, but yours presumably will fade faster. Still, all the evidence so far is that the immediate effect is just as good.” He wandered around Spike, who twisted in an attempt to see him; Giles appeared to be calculating distances in his head. “Yes, that’s about it,” he muttered to himself, and without warning swung his belt in a ferocious whack against the back of Spike’s thighs. Spike howled, and fought his restraints; Giles waited again until he had stilled. “I can’t do this fast,” he explained; “placing is everything.” He moved from beside Spike to directly behind him, and swung again; the leather licked the side of Spike’s left thigh and curled around the front. Spike convulsed, as much, from the look of it, with shock as with pain. Giles moved again, to Spike’s left side. This time, Spike could see him, and he was pulling away as Giles lifted the belt.

Giles hesitated. “Now you see why I wanted you caged,” he observed, calmly. “If you don’t stand still, there’s no saying where the strap will land. I’m aiming for the front of your thighs. You can’t bend your knees much, which is good, and your meat-and-two-veg are all tucked safely up out of harm’s way. Aren’t you grateful that I took such good care of you?”

The outpouring of profanity suggested that Spike wasn’t grateful at all; Giles retreated to the table and returned with the spare clip. “Tongue,” he warned; Spike snarled, and Giles smiled. “But if I order it, you’ll do it, like it or not,” he suggested slyly. “Tongue out, Spike.”

The vampire hesitated, looked away; Giles waited.

Waited.

Slowly, Spike turned back. Their eyes met, and Spike opened his mouth. Extended his tongue. Howled as the clip fastened on the tip.

Did not scrape it off with his teeth.

There were tears running down his cheeks as Giles landed a noisy kiss of leather across the front of his thighs, and he writhed helplessly, dribbling from the clamp. Again, Giles waited for him to still, before coming to stand in front of him. The belt whipped across his right thigh and curled around behind.

“Again,” said Giles, calmly. Back of the thighs. Left leg. Front. Right leg. Back. Left. Front. Right. As he came around for the fourth time, Spike was sobbing, his lips pulled out of shape by the clip on his tongue. Giles smiled, not unkindly, and reached up to remove it.

Spike squalled.

“Painful as they come off, aren’t they?” asked Giles conversationally. “Are you getting the principle behind banding now? You end up with a scarlet band right around the top of your thighs. Some people like to make it a wide one, and hardly overlap the strokes at all, but I thought in your case it would be better to keep it narrow, and land the strokes on top of each other. Now that you’ve got the idea…” He reached above Spike’s head, and unfastened two of the chains, allowing Spike to move a little. “There. Enough play for you to turn.” He set a finger under Spike’s chin and met his eyes. “Enough for you to bend your knees and avoid the blow on your thighs, Spike. But if you do, any except the one behind will land either squarely or with the wrap, on your cock and balls. I don’t recommend that. I _do_ recommend obedience. We’re going round twice more. Or rather, I’m standing still, and _you_ are going around twice more.” He produced a handkerchief, and dried Spike’s cheeks and chin, almost tenderly. “Ready? Turn to your left, please. Right side to me.”

It took ten seconds for Spike to bring himself to do it; he stood still for the blow, but after it he writhed and swung on the chain.

“Turn. Back to me.” The belt hissed against his left thigh, and he squealed.

“Turn.” This time it took him nearly half a minute to gather the courage to present the fronts of his legs; he was quicker turning again to offer his right thigh.

“Very good,” approved Giles warmly. “You’ve got it. Again, please. Last time, but don’t worry, I’ll put some effort into it, make it count.” 

Oddly, Spike still didn’t seem grateful. He hung, gasping, in his chains afterwards; Giles approached him, smiling. “Enough?”

Spike nodded, silently.

“Then the clamps had better come off.”

The vampire gasped at the first one, gave an odd choked cry at the second - and wailed at the removal of the remaining clamps above his waist. There were words as Giles unfastened the fine chain around his waist, but they weren’t recognisably English, or indeed any human language, and they failed as Giles removed the last three clamps, falling away into sobbing gasps and one strangled scream.

“Genuinely enough?” enquired Giles, softly.

Spike’s head came up; curiously, he had not vamped out. “Will you…” He broke off. Giles set a hand on a bruised buttock and squeezed.

“Will I what?” It sounded like true curiosity. Spike shifted, as far as the chains allowed, arched his back, widened his stance. Giles let his palm slip lightly around a marked hip. “Ah. Well now. That was outside the agreement.” His fingers quested forward, with surprising gentleness; he turned Spike to face him, hands still high above his head, and viewed him slowly, up and down. “I won’t say I’m not tempted,” he murmured. Spike grinned.

“I won’t bite,” he offered. “I promise I won’t bite. Promise on Dru’s name.” He showed his throat; it looked like submission, and Giles leaned closer, licked the hollow between his collarbones, nipped the pale skin under his chin. “You’re _good_ , Rupert, I’ll say that for you. You’re definitely good. You know your stuff, don’t you? I don’t think your Slayer knows half how good you are. By the way, why’s she all of a lather? Heart going’ like a trip-hammer, throwing off hormones…”

“Buffy? Is, are you, are you not feeling well?”

He was staring at her anxiously; Spike, totally not naked _not thinking about naked Spike_ and not in the slightest chained up in the book cage by Giles, grinned at her knowingly past his shoulder. “Pay attention, Slayer. Your Watcher’s just linked two prophecies an’ a spell, and made sense of somethin’ that’s bewildered seers for five centuries.”

Giles blushed and fidgeted; Spike tipped his head admonishingly. “Not right, you know, that it should be a vampire who says how good he is at what he does. Not much he can’t do well, is there?”

Giles frowned, peering at her more closely. “Buffy, come, come into the office. I think we need to, to talk.”

“Too much talking,” grumbled Spike sulkily, his mood shifting again. “Not enough action.”

“I’ll give you bloody action,” growled Giles.

She could picture it. She could _so_ picture it.

She rather thought that Spike could too.


	7. Buffy

She followed him across the floor; as usual he opened the door and stepped back to allow her to precede him. She walked as far as his desk, and turned. He was frowning at her.

“What was that about?” he asked. She looked away. “Buffy, I’m serious. I don’t know, I don’t know what’s got into you at the moment. You aren’t, you’ve been daydreaming since you got here, leaving the others to pick up your share of the work as well as their own, which is, is lazy and ungrateful of you. Then you missed training with me both yesterday and today. You said something important had, had come up, but you haven’t mentioned it since. Tell me what’s the matter.”

She couldn’t look at him. His voice hardened. “Buffy.”

She shrugged, helplessly.

“Was any part of that true?”

She risked a glance; he was doing that thing with his mouth, where it went all tight. Sometimes it looked almost like a pout when he did it, and it made her smile, particularly when it was because he was ticked at somebody, usually Xander. Willow thought it was cute.

“ _Buffy!_ Pay _attention!_ Where were you yesterday when you should have been training?”

Yeah, she had blown him off. Now… now his expression looked less like a pout, more like he was keeping tight control of his temper. He was exasperated with her a lot, but this looked like more than exasperation. Now he looked really mad. “Where were you?”

“At the mall,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She thought of not answering but he was glaring at her and it didn’t seem to be an option. She muttered something incoherent about shoes.

“Shoes,” he repeated, contemptuously. “And today? Where were you today?”

She’d gone for ice cream with Jared. Jared was cute.

“Cute.” Hell, she’d said that one out loud. And what was with Giles repeating everything she said?

“So you’ve been lying to me, Buffy, lying about where you were going and what you were doing.”

Her head came up. “I just…” and it trailed away. He nodded once, sharply.

“It’s a nasty word, isn’t it? Lying? Have you got a better one?”

“I needed some time off,” she burst out, indignantly. “I can’t be the Slayer all the time.” Even as she said it, she was cringing. She _was_ the Slayer all the time, just like he was the Watcher all the time, and they both knew it.

“At the moment,” he said sharply, “you don’t seem to be the Slayer _any_ of the time.”

That hurt. “I patrol every night,” she muttered, sullenly.

“So do I, and I’m not the Slayer, although I’ll grant you I accept that it’s my duty. So does Xander. So does Willow, and Oz. None of them is the Slayer, Buffy. They’re covering your work for you. Wesley and Faith are working, and it’s hard for them because they have so little in common, but they’re trying. When did you last come to a research night? Monday? Xander _struggles_ with the research, it’s difficult for him, but he’s been here every night this week. It’s full moon in three days, Oz is getting twitchy, but he’s here. Willow might like to go shopping and hang out with cute boys too, but she’s here. Wesley is here, and he’s hurt and shocked, he should really be at home but I would rather have him here because there’s nobody to look after him if he goes. Even _Spike_ is here, and heaven knows, this isn’t any part of _his_ responsibility. You’re doing the bare minimum, my girl; you’re patrolling and nothing more. When was the last time you did anything over the basic patrol? Anything by way of research or, or training?”

“I was practising what you said about reconnoitring! I practised that tonight!” Maybe indignation would turn him away from criticising her.

“You tried to sneak up on Xander and me,” he said contemptuously. “I heard you as soon as you touched the gate. I could have killed you three times before you ever came inside.”

Her shoulders slumped and she looked at the floor. He snorted. “Let’s summarise, shall we? You’ve been skipping training, you’ve been skipping the research nights, you’ve been cutting corners when you patrol and you’ve lied to me about all of them. Your lack of discipline is disgraceful, Buffy. I’m thoroughly disappointed in you.” Oh, she hated that. She grumbled about him, about her Watcher and his demands on her, but to know that she had disappointed him… “You’re childish and immature, aren’t you?” Her eyes filled with tears, she couldn’t help it. “What are we going to do about it?”

She looked up at him; she tended to forget, because she had Slayer strength on her side, just what a _big_ man he was. His expression was unforgiving. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this,” he said regretfully, loosening his tie and unfastening his cuffs. “I _hoped_ that you were gaining some degree of maturity, that you were recognising and accepting your responsibilities.” She was hypnotised; he turned his cuff inside out, with careful precision, and began to roll up his sleeve, stopping only when two-thirds of his forearm was revealed. “It seems I was mistaken, and you need a reminder that if you behave like a disobedient child, you can be treated like one.” The other cuff was being rolled up; she could see the muscles flex above his wrists. With his forearms bare, his hands looked disturbingly large; her thoughts were sticky and slow in her head. He couldn’t possibly mean to do what…

He turned to drag the chair away from his desk and into the centre of the floor, seating himself calmly and holding out a hand to her. “Come here, Buffy. Across my knee, please. We’ll see if a good sharp spanking reminds you that you have work to do, and that it has to be done _properly_.”

No. No. He couldn’t be serious. She wasn’t a child, he was her Watcher, not her father, he had no right even to say such a thing to her. No _way_ would she submit to anything of the kind. Which didn’t explain why she was stumbling across the office to his side, eyes already swimming because she had let him down and she knew she had.

“Skirt up. _This_ time, I’ll allow you to keep your underwear but if we ever have to do this again, you’ll have your backside bare for it, is that plain?”

“Oh, no, please!”

“Skirt up, Buffy. Now.”

_“Please!”_ She was nearly crying; he was implacable.

“You’ll take your skirt up yourself, or I’ll do it for you. I’m not spanking you through a layer of denim. You know what you’ve done to get yourself in this position: you’ve failed to pick up your own responsibilities and you’ve left them for other people. The least you can do is face your failings. Are you telling me you don’t think you deserve this?”

Her mouth quivered but she shook her head. She _so_ deserved it, and she deserved it from him, but she couldn’t, _couldn’t_ , pull up her skirt.  Not in front of Giles! He made an impatient noise and his hand closed on her wrist; Slayer reflexes or not, she was tipping, off balance, over him, and his hand grabbed the bottom of her skirt and yanked it upward. She landed on his lap, skirt bunched above her hips, and let out a low wail of desperation.

He _laughed_ and for a moment she hated him, before a hot red tide of shame swept over her and she scrabbled frantically behind her back at the hem of her skirt. He slapped the back of her hand and she snatched it away again. She couldn’t help it: she squirmed, and he laughed again, and patted her lightly on the bottom. The bare bottom. Her thong was going to give her no protection at all. She was bent over Giles’ knee and to all intents and purposes, she was bare-ass for a spanking, and she knew, _knew_ , that there was no point in arguing.

“I’ve no sympathy for you, you know. We’ve had more than one conversation about the unsuitability of your clothes, Buffy, haven’t we? I’ve told you over and over again that practicality should be more important to you than fashion. Maybe this time you’ll believe me, maybe a hands-on experiment will convince you that I do actually know what I’m talking about.” Yeah, maybe it would. Giles had seen most of her, one way or another, what with slimed clothes and wounds and all; come to that, she’d seen most of Giles. But he’d never seen her like this, and she bit back a whimper of shame. He was going to spank her. He was going to ignore the fact that she had Slayer healing, and he was going to smack her bare bottom.

He did. He did, and after a minute she was horribly aware of having misjudged him. Slayer healing was all very well, but it didn’t get her out of something that hurt – hurt a _lot_ – in the first place. She hadn’t thought that Giles was a big man, strong, fit, capable of swinging an axe for half an hour without apparent difficulty. Smacking her bottom was well within his capabilities. She squirmed again, for discomfort this time, and found that she could shift a little forward, an inch or two away from his big hard hand. A moment later she found that it had been a bad move, since all it achieved was to drop her head lower and shunt her ass higher – and higher meant that it was more vulnerable. Higher meant that Giles could reach the tops of her thighs, and the tops of her thighs, she discovered, were dreadfully tender. She had her teeth in her lip; she wasn’t going to make a sound. They _had_ to be able to hear this outside, Oz and Spike and Xander and Willow and Wesley, they _had_ to be able to hear this. They had to know, they had to be able to work out what was happening. She forced her head up to look around. The door was shut, and the blinds were down, which was a mercy, but they would be able to hear it, they could hear Giles’ hand cracking down on her bare ass, and she _had_ to be silent. She wanted to yell, she wanted to cry, to fight Giles, to get away…

No. No, she didn’t. She wanted to stay just where she was while Giles pounded good sense and good manners into her. She wanted to stop being powerful, to stop being the Slayer who always had to be on duty and in charge. She wanted to let Giles tell her what to do, and then just to do it, and to know that if she didn’t do it, she would end up just where she deserved to be, over his knee with her ass bare, learning better. She wanted to _let go_ , not to have to make decisions, to let him do it. She wanted him to make her be what she ought to be.

She wanted him to touch her. To spank the nonsense out of her, and to let her cry, and then to slip one of those big strong hands between her thighs. Oh God, she was trembling, her nipples were tight, and there was a low, slow ache building in her and she needed everything that Giles could give her. He knew how. He knew about women, he knew what they wanted. He knew how to give them what they wanted. He knew what _she_ wanted, even when she didn’t know herself. She was wet, she knew she was wet, and she was dreadfully afraid that he knew it too, he _must_ know, although he didn’t say anything. He must know that she was getting turned on by him spanking her, that she hated it and loved it at the same time, that she so desperately wanted him to _touch_ her.

His palm fell on her, lightly, a feather touch that made her cry out the way none of the harsh smacks had done. His hand curved around her flesh, caressed down over one heated cheek. She whimpered with aching need, flexed her spine, let her legs fall open and offered herself to him wordlessly.

“Buffy,” he said, gently, his tone promising everything. He loved her. She knew he did and she loved him. He could give her everything she so desperately needed.

“Buffy?” he questioned again. She smiled. It was so like him to ask, gently, when she would simply let him take. Want, take, have, Giles. She wanted him, and she was sure that he wanted her. They could take, have…

“Buffy!”

Her eyes snapped open. Giles was frowning at her. Spike was smirking knowingly, Oz had his head tipped, and looked questioning. Willow and Xander were frankly staring, and Wesley looked embarrassed. She looked around for rescue. It didn’t come.

“Buffy, I _said_ , we need to talk. You’re, you’ve been all anyhow since you arrived tonight. Come into the office and… unless, unless, are you not feeling well?”

Lifeline. She grabbed it. “No. Not well at all. Sorry, Giles, sorry, guys, not feeling well, not sure I should have come. Shouldn’t have come! Not that I… Home! Go home. I’ll go home.”

Giles turned towards the office. “Let, let me get my jacket and I’ll run you home in the car, if you’re not well. Or, or maybe Oz…”

Oz shrugged and reached for the van keys. “Sure thing.”

Willow’s face was scrunched with concern. “Want me to come with you, Buffy? Should we call your mom? Tell her you’re sick?”

She shook her head desperately. “No thanks, guys, I’ll walk home, fresh air and all that, go to bed early, sleep it off, don’t think it’s anything.” Get some more batteries at the 7-Eleven because she _so_ needed that vibrator to be working tonight.

“But Buff, don’t you think one of us should come with you?” That was Xander, sweet Xander, always concerned about her, and the very idea of Xander _coming with her_ because she totally did _not_ think of him that way…

She bolted.


	8. Giles

“Whoa,” said Xander doubtfully. “What was that about? Should… shouldn’t one of us go after her?”

“Yeah,” agreed Willow, starting to gather her belongings together as if intending to leave. “If she isn’t well? Giles? Shouldn’t you have made her let you take her home?”

“She’s fine,” said Spike, dismissively; Giles smiled faintly, and Wesley looked puzzled.

“She isn’t ill, Willow.”

“Yeah, but how would you know?” objected Xander. “She’s been weird all evening, like she wasn’t completely here. I mean, if she’s not sick, are you sure it wasn’t a spell or a, a, or something to do with the slayage? A curse?”

Giles, oddly, cast a glance at Oz, who shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Giles. Just a strong one.”

“A strong _what?_ ” demanded Xander, staring across the table. “Oz, what are you talking about?”

Spike leaned back, hooking a foot onto the corner of the table and retrieving the cigarette from behind his ear, tapping it on the packet; Giles automatically flicked his ankle down and took the cigarette from him. The vampire sighed. “Yer Slayer’s hormonal, whelp, that’s all. She’s due her visitor. Aunt Flo’s comin’. She’s gettin’ the painters in. Yeah, it’s a curse, Harris. Watcher, give me back me fag.”

Xander jumped, and stared, uncomprehending, and Wesley made a faint panicky sound, but Giles just laughed and handed back the cigarette. “You may _not_ smoke in here. Take it outside.”

Willow was glaring at Spike. “How do you know? Have you been spying on her?”

Spike snorted. “Don’t need to, do I? ‘M a vampire. I know about…”

“Don’t say it,” warned Giles.

Spike shrugged again. “Well, I do. Don’t look at me like that, Witch. It’s the wrong sort…”

_“Spike!”_

He rolled his eyes. “I am _aware_ ,” he said caustically, “of a change in the air. The Slayer is due a visit from the hormone fairy, and some time within the next two or three days it may be possible to get some sense from her.”

Xander’s eyes turned to Oz, who shrugged. “Werewolf senses,” he offered apologetically. Willow squeaked.

“Oz…” She was blushing, and Oz frowned at her and then blushed himself.

“Mostly I can’t tell… well, I can, sorta. Most of the month I can’t tell. Last few days before full moon, I can. But in school, there are so many girls and always some of them, so unless I’m close I can’t tell which. And everybody in school is pretty hormonal, all the kids at least, the boys as well as the girls, and when they get together it’s like drowning… Not that it’s any of my business anyway. Out of school, if I’m close, yeah, I can tell.”

She looked horrified. “So with me…”

He shook his head. “You’re not near the full moon, that’s all I know.”

She glowered at him, and then turned her attention to Giles. “You knew,” she accused. “How did you know? Can you tell with… with all of us?” Then, rather more forgivingly, “Is it a Watcher-Slayer thing?”

Giles wrinkled his nose. “Not _exactly_. I, I can’t tell with you, Willow, or, or with Cordelia, say, or Faith, although occasionally I might, might guess. For Faith, Wesley would be more likely than me to… No? Oh, well, it’s not a Watcher thing, no. It’s more that I spend a lot of time with her, I know her, I know how she behaves. With Buffy, I, I’m conscious that once a month I turn into a completely unreasonable monster.”

There was a silence while they thought about that. Spike was quickest to recover. “You mean she does.”

“That’s not how Buffy sees it,” observed Giles, dryly. “I, I reduce my general undesirability and monsterhood by keeping a supply of chocolate in my desk for emergencies. It’s for _emergencies_ , Xander, and if I find that you have stolen it and left me at the mercy of an hormonal Slayer, I will, when I recover, make your life a living hell. Just so that you know.”

“Gotcha,” said Xander who still looked uneasy. “But… you’re sure there’s nothing else wrong?”

“Reasonably,” agreed Giles. “I wouldn’t have let her go alone if I thought, if I thought… And given the way she gets in a bad month, I’m sorry for the demon who takes her on tonight.”

“Yeah,” agreed Spike. “An’ on that happy note I’m gonna love you and leave you. The Spare should be a decent distance away and I got things to do, people to bite. If you change your mind, Watcher, about the slap an’ tickle, let me know. Shit, look at the time! That’s what comes of arsing about researching with you lot.” He snatched up his coat and swept out, leaving an echoing silence behind him.

“It’s so lovely when it stops,” murmured Giles. Oz snorted with amusement.

“I’ll take Willow home,” he offered. “You too, Xander, if you want. Wesley?”

Wesley looked startled at being included. “Oh, thank you, but I have my car.”

“Or, or, if you’ll help me reshelve the books, Xander, you could come with me,” suggested Giles. “No need to, to take Oz out of his way. Wesley, don’t forget to treat that hand again. No, I can manage without you, thank you, if Xander will stay?”

“Cool,” agreed Xander, picking up an armful of leather-bound tomes. “It’s O.K., Willow. You and Oz go. There aren’t so many books, the G-Man and I can do it. It won’t take long.”

It didn’t; fifteen minutes saw them clearing the last of the empty cans and food wrappers, and meeting in the stacks with the final few books. Xander pushed two volumes into the gaps on the shelves and came back, smiling, to Giles.

“I could come with you?”

Giles shrugged and leaned back against the shelving. Xander walked close enough to wrap his arms around the older man’s waist. “I thought you said I was impertinent and insolent and generally didn’t deserve to be allowed to come any time this week?”

“Well, that’s true,” allowed Giles. “On the other hand, I’m indulgent and sentimental and probably not going to stop you.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Although I ought to beat you once a week, just to keep you in line.”

“Giles, you beat me twice a week, minimum.”

“So I do; I was forgetting.”

“And you were way strict tonight.”

“You were particularly insolent tonight, and don’t think I don’t know why.”

Xander twitched and looked away; Giles laughed. “You knew she was there, didn’t you? You knew she was watching.”

Xander’s head tipped forward and he hid his eyes behind a fall of hair, but he was smiling. Giles shook his head. “Bloody exhibitionist.”

“You knew, then? I thought you did, telling me I’m not allowed to call you by your name, and doing the belt thing, where you pull it through real slow — you know what that does to me — and then later I was afraid maybe you didn’t, and I couldn’t find a second to ask you. Not with everybody hanging in the library at once.”

“It was like Crewe Junction tonight,” agreed Giles. “Yes, I knew. Buffy can’t sneak worth a damn. When did you realise she was there?”

“I heard her on the roof, and she rattled the skylight. You?”

Giles frowned. “It sounded like the Band of the Blues and Royals going up the drainpipe, and once the skylight was open, I could smell her perfume. The only thing louder than her getting onto the roof was the way she got down again. I’m afraid we disconcerted her, Xander.”

“Well, she must have known we have a Thing. She just maybe didn’t know what sort of a Thing we have.”

“Exhibitionist,” murmured Giles again, affectionately. “She didn’t need to know. And you know, I’m not sure that she did know - good heavens, what a selection of ugly sentences. Anybody would think I had no vocabulary.”

Xander’s mouth opened in amused horror. “You think she didn’t know we had a Thing?”

“I think from her expression when I opened the door, she didn’t. And in that case…”

“In that case,” agreed Xander, caught between dismay and laughter, “why are _you_ calling _me_ an exhibitionist? And what on earth do you think she thought?”

Giles shook his head. “I have no idea, but I think we may have been the cause of her lack of concentration this evening.”

Xander sobered. “You really think there was nothing… she wasn’t sick?”

“I think,” said Giles, judiciously, “that she was hormonal. And from Spike’s response to her when he came in, I think she was… shall we say that she was interesting to a creature that can sense physical condition? He wouldn’t be interested in…”

“Nothing icky, Giles,” warned Xander doubtfully. Giles shook his head.

“Spike wouldn’t be interested in anything, as you say, icky. Vampires are not carrion eaters, to put it bluntly. They want arterial blood. The blood when, when a woman…”

“Giles! Ickiness approaching!”

Giles rolled his eyes. “There isn’t much of it, and what there is, is largely endometrial tissue, not blood anyway. Spike was interested, to the point of making an approach I’ve never seen a vampire do before. He licked her skin, remember? And then he propositioned me. I think he licked her because he could sense a hormone surge, and he propositioned me, because he thought there was no point in propositioning her.”

Xander smirked. “You’re his second choice?”

Giles nodded. “Her Tug. Do you call it that? The pretty girl’s plain friend? The one you score with when you’ve failed to score with the one everybody wants? Well, not quite that – he wouldn’t hope to get pain play from Buffy, and I think he was sincere in what he said about wanting that, about, about Drusilla. But I think the, the impetus was that he was getting a hormone surge off Buffy, and not a, a, not anything to do with her, with her, not because of…”

“Right,” agreed Xander hastily. “So… because of what?”

Giles grinned rakishly. “She _saw_ us, Xander, which was your intention all along. You let that happen because it turned you on; I think it _also_ turned _her_ on. And Spike knew it. She was rattled by what she saw, but she was also aroused by it, and he knew. And I think that’s what made her so jumpy.”

Xander’s face was a study in confused entertainment. “But… if you’re right about her being, um, you and Spike and Oz - and I suppose one of you might be wrong but all three of you are probably right - surely she wouldn’t be, um…”

Giles smiled a little at Xander’s unwillingness to use specific nouns and verbs. “Some women are less keen than usual in the days immediately before they menstruate. Some are more.”

“Oh,” said Xander, faintly.

“And you, Xander, caused her to happen upon an event that made her think about sex, with the result that… well, I think she _did_ think about it, until she needed to be somewhere we weren’t.”

Xander was beginning to grin; Giles put on his most minatory glare. “That was _very_ bad of you. Positively wicked. Definitely deserving of punishment.”

Xander shrugged a shoulder insolently, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Giles flickered an eyebrow. “You’re just _asking_ for another spanking, aren’t you?”

Xander tried to keep up the brash look, but he was losing it into a grin. “And you’re just dying to give me one. _And_ a spanking,” he added, on seeing Giles’ smirk.

“It’s good for you. Keeps you in line. Good for me too. Stops me remembering that I’m about a hundred years older than you. Well, stops me remembering anything much, actually.”

“You’re as old as the man you feel,” cracked Xander, catching Giles’ wrist and dragging his hand around his own hip. Giles tapped it lightly.

“But I don’t see why you get all the fun. I think it’s my turn.” He looked pensive. “You know, while I have no particular objection to accommodating your exhibitionism, I think perhaps Buffy is the wrong audience. If she responded like that to seeing what I did to you… How do you think she would have reacted if I had been the one bending over?”


End file.
